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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363265">Dread the Iron Chain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwoodsBound/pseuds/NorthwoodsBound'>NorthwoodsBound</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cursed Object, Gen, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Obscure Tibetan Lore, Original Character(s), Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:21:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwoodsBound/pseuds/NorthwoodsBound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Willing has nothing to do with it.” He yanked the pendant out from under his shirt and pointed to the symbols. Bobby squinted. “Slavery. Binding.” He left it to lay in the open. “Engraved iron, hand forged.” Bobby looked horrified.</p><p>Michael Gunderson died in a car crash in 2002.  Four years later, the Winchester brothers get a text from their father.  "Congratulations on the new brother."  The trio that forms as a result is nothing anyone ever expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Critical Terrain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Dean get a text from John.  Enter Jacob, whose mouth seems to move faster than his brain.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>March 2006 - near Aurora, Nebraska</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know Dad knew how to text.” Sam squinted at his phone. Dean glanced at him and dug for his own phone, ignoring the fact they were cruising 80 miles an hour down a busy Nebraskan highway. Was that an oxymoron? Their phones had gone off at almost the same time. “Dean, watch it!” Dean looked up and jerked the wheel, barely avoiding a beat up blue Toyota in the next lane over. The driver laid on the horn and flipped Dean off. Sam sniggered. Okay, so it wasn’t an oxymoron.</p><p>“Shut it,” Dean grumbled, flipping his phone open. “Yours say the same thing?” He showed Sam his phone screen, focusing on the road. There was more traffic now than there had been all morning.</p><p>“Yup. I-80 332, Love’s. Congratulations on the new brother.” Dean could feel his brother’s stare on the side of his head like it was a physical object. “What the hell?” Dean shrugged and watched for mile markers. 305.1. Plenty of time to fight about this. He sighed.</p><p>“Twenty miles out. We doin’ it?” He closed his phone and tossed it into the space between them. There was silence for a minute, broken only by the radio station blaring out classic rock. What the hell did Dad mean by a new brother? “Dude, if there’s a baby waiting for us at that gas station, I’m leaving it there.” He was still trying to figure out how to handle Sam, let alone whatever kid Dad was dropping on them. Sam scoffed.</p><p>“Oh, so we’re going?” Great, they were gonna fight about it.</p><p>“Dad wouldn’t have told us to go if it weren’t important.”</p><p>“And this doesn’t sound like some huge trap to you?” Dean couldn’t help himself from throwing a hand up.</p><p>“Do we have to fight every time Dad tells us to do something? Jesus. You wanna just leave this kid sitting there?” It was Sam’s turn to sigh and Dean felt a warm curl of victory in his chest.</p><p>“For the record, I think this is a really fucked up idea.”</p><p>“Bitch.”</p><p>“Jerk.”</p><hr/><p>Okay, Dean agreed with Sam. This was really fucked up. There was a kid sitting on the curb by the convenience center, clearly waiting for someone. The kid was a few inches shorter than him, probably close to 5’9” if Dean had to guess. He was lanky but muscular, with dark, shaggy hair and pale eyes. It made Dean think, for a heartbeat, of teenage-Sam. The kid wasn’t dressed warm enough for the chilly March weather - he had the typical flannel-over-shirt layering Dean and Sam both favored, but no jacket. Jeans and worn boots completed his look. He didn’t look that young, either. A couple years younger than Sam, but older than Dad’s sparse text had made him believe. He pulled up and parked the Impala directly in front of the kid, who eyed the car with resignation. Sam and Dean traded a long look, then got out.</p><p>“You my ride?” The kid got to his feet. Dean noted one of Dad’s old duffels at the kid’s feet, lumpy and barely half-full. Sam reached out a hand.</p><p>“Sam. This is, uh, Dean.” The kid didn’t take his hand. Dean smirked as Sam bristled a little. “Sorry but, uh, who are you?” The kid smiled, long and slow. It wasn’t a warm smile and Dean shifted, widening his stance just a little. That kind of smile came from two things: monsters and kicked dogs biting back. Dean wondered which category the kid would fall under.</p><p>“Oh, you don’t know, huh? Well, this will be fun.” Chills were starting to prickle down Dean’s back and he wished, hard and fast, that this wouldn’t go sideways in a busy parking lot full of spectators. And that he had a gun. But they were all stashed in the trunk and the glove box, same as they always were for driving days. “I’m Jacob. Your new...brother.” Dean could taste the hatred in that one sentence.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Dean couldn’t help himself from scoffing. The kid’s attitude was anything but welcoming. He could be forgiven for his bluntness here. “I know damn sure Dad didn’t have any other kids. Let’s try it again. Who are you?” Jacob’s smile widened, and it was a bitter thing. Dean really wished he had a gun on him. Or that the woman with a toddler squinting at them from six pumps over would go the fuck away.</p><p>“John texted you.”</p><p>“Yup. Gave us jack shit.”</p><p>“Typical.” There was a moment of brief, tentative connection between Jacob and Sam. Of course they’d bond over Dad not giving up information. Of course. Jacob shrugged languidly, tucking his hands in his jeans pockets. Dean realized the kid had goosebumps. It was fuckin’ cold out here. The clouds had started to unleash a steady drizzle. Great. “It’s a very long story, you see,” Jacob said in a low, smooth tone that made Dean think of nothing but dark, empty hallways and the breathless anticipation of clearing a room. He clenched one hand into a fist. “I will guarantee you this. I will not harm you. I can’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam roll his shoulders and his fingers twitch for the knife in his jacket pocket. Dean could empathize. If this kid meant to be reassuring, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.</p><p>“You gonna tell us what you want?” Jacob spread his hands wide at waist-level, an invitation. Invitation for what, though? Dean glanced to his left, then right. Nothing. The nosy mother had finally gotten in her car, though. She was watching them. Dean scowled at her.</p><p>“Honestly? I want to get out of the rain and drink my weight in coffee.” Dean blinked and turned back to Jacob. That was so not the answer he was expecting. Sam looked confused now, too. “I’d love to discuss how much fun it is to be passed around like a fucking suitcase, too. But only if I know you aren’t gonna shoot me.” Okay, so the kid knew the Winchester policy of ‘shoot first, ask later.’ That was...oddly reassuring. But now there were puzzle pieces starting to click together in Dean’s brain and he really didn’t like the picture they were forming. Kid being passed around like a suitcase. New brother. Jacob had spent time with John. He’d just sworn he couldn’t hurt them. He’d read about this somewhere. Sam went stiff.</p><p>“You have that pendant.” Sam’s voice was everything Dean had wanted to protect him from when they were kids. It was realization and sadness and pain and anger. But what pendant? Dean glanced between them. Jacob didn’t look surprised but tugged something out from under his worn grey t-shirt. It was a symbol, one that looked almost like a mirrored Eye of Horus. He didn’t recognize it. But Sam did, based on the sharp inhale to his right. Dean looked at him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’ve read about it. Some school’s web page about fake cultures.” Jacob snickered. Dean didn’t like feeling so out of the loop.</p><p>“Okay, and?”</p><p>“If that’s what I think it is, you and me gotta talk. Now.”</p><hr/><p>Jacob fidgeted as the two brothers turned away from him and bent their heads together. Of course they’d figure it out in approximately two minutes. John had told him as much. He should have figured that. Now the question of the afternoon was, did he try to go get a coffee while they talked? Or did he just stand out here in the drizzle and wait for Sam to fill Dean in? He leaned backward, moved one foot, and froze as both men looked up at him sharply. “Look,” he started with the bite he knew would get him punished, “if you’re gonna tell each other secrets, I’m gonna go head off hypothermia. You know where to find me.” They both straightened.</p><p>“Get in the car.” Sam’s voice was firm, though laced with something like curiosity. Jacob scowled as his collar sparked. So he knew how this whole thing worked, huh? Jacob had his hand on the back door when Sam said, “wait.” Jacob paused and looked over at him. His dark eyes were a little sad. “Go get whatever you wanted from inside. Come back out when you’re ready.” Jacob couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He wouldn’t have to teach this hunter how to phrase commands. Sam had phrased this one so loosely but so thoroughly at the same time, it was like a breath of fresh air. Jacob wondered how long it would take for the brothers to realize how much control they really had over him.</p><p>Dean was already throwing his duffel bag into the backseat. Sam followed him in but split off toward the snack section as Jacob went in search of blessed hot caffeine. Coffee here was cheaper than it had been in Kansas, though not by much. He dug into his back pocket to see how much cash he had. Not enough for a coffee and real food, but coffee and a candy bar would work just as well. A hand plucked the bills from his hand and he turned, a snarl twisting his lips. Dean smirked at him and shoved the money back into his back pocket.</p><p>“We’re buying. Go buy food, kid.” Jacob was left staring after the older hunter. That had been a command, too. But there was no real intention behind it. Did that mean he had to buy food? He waffled there for a long minute, then shook himself and poured a large cup of coffee. Ooh, they even had fancy creamers here. He emptied four cups of the French Vanilla creamer into his massive cup, then capped it and wandered over to the tiny hot food station. He was sick of chips and cereal and Pop Tarts. John was always stingy about that kind of thing. Jacob plucked a corndog from the rollers. He hadn’t had one of these in years. Dean reached past him and set three hamburgers on top of his coffee. Jacob raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Those for you or me?”</p><p>“Yes. I could use you as a toothpick.” Jacob’s second eyebrow joined the first. “Shut up.” Dean shoved him toward the register where Sam was already waiting. Jacob set his food down. Sam had clearly had the same idea. Two big cups of coffee, a couple bags of chips, and a big bag of peanut M&amp;Ms were already there. Jacob handed Sam the little money he had. The blonde man said nothing but passed it back to his brother, who shoved it down the back of Jacob’s shirt. The cashier grinned and rang everything up</p><p>“$37.43. I don’t care who pays me.” Sam handed the woman two twenties. Jacob was too busy trying to fish the money out of the back of his shirt to help with carrying anything out. It was just...where...he couldn’t...quite reach it. The brothers were both grinning as they got into the Impala. Jacob scowled but kept trying.</p><p>“Dude, get in the car.” Dean rolled his window down.</p><p>“Someone shoved money down my shirt.”</p><p>“You didn’t even have to dance for it or anything.” Jacob went still. Dean’s eyes went wide. Sam smacked him.</p><p>“Jacob, he’s kidding.” Jacob really, really hoped so. He was really bad at that kind of dancing. He could prove it, too. Finally the crumpled bills fell low enough that he could grab them. He sighed, shoved them into his back pocket for the third time today, and got into the Impala. It was a nice car. Warm. Dry. The music however? Not so nice. Dean was blasting songs that had gone out of style twenty years ago. Jacob had too much self-preservation to say anything, though. He knew how this went. He got to hunker down in the backseat and pretend he didn’t exist until they got where they were going. That’s how John had handled him up until four hours ago. He was invisible until someone needed him.</p><p>Sam handed him his coffee, the corndog, a hamburger, and a bag of chips. Jacob blinked at the extra food and tried to hand the chips back. “Nope,” Sam said cheerfully. “You touched ‘em last. Yours now.” Dean pulled out of the gas station and onto the highway. Jacob ate quietly. Only when he was sipping at his coffee did Sam twist around in his seat. Jacob looked up at him.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“So how old are you?” Jacob sighed.</p><p>“Twenty.”</p><p>“Birthday?”</p><p>“November.” Sam squinted at him. “November 7th.”</p><p>“Dude, you aren’t even legal yet?” Jacob handed Sam his coffee (how were there no cup holders back here, seriously?) and dug around in his duffel. Clearly Dean hadn’t decided to go snooping. Everything was where he’d left it. He dug out his stack of cards and traded them to Sam for his coffee. The younger brother flipped through the stack.</p><p>“Driver’s license under,” Sam squinted, “Michael Gunderson, which claims you’re twenty-two,” he looked up and Jacob smiled winningly, “FBI intern, National Park Service intern, generic journalism, generic medical intern,” Sam looked up at him. “All intern ID cards.” Dean made a noise of amused dismay. Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“I can get away with more as an intern. They don’t expect you to know everything. You get to fuck up at least once. And when you say your supervisor’s in the car waiting, they give you what you need pretty quick.” Sam considered this.</p><p>“Yeah, makes sense. Why Michael Gunderson?” Jacob tried to stay relaxed. Tried being the key word here.</p><p>“My original name.” The car jerked. Dean was staring at him.</p><p>“Dean, road,” Sam barked. Dean turned around again.</p><p>“Story time, kid.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Jacob sighed and took a long sip of coffee. He was finally warming up, thank God. “Look, I was born Michael Gunderson. Collar went on and activated, my death got faked. I’m just Jacob now. That’s all I am.” Jacob. Dean scoffed.</p><p>“You gonna tell us the rest of that story?”</p><p>“Maybe when I know you aren’t gonna take me out back and shoot me full of lead, sure.” Sam handed him the little stack, which he shoved back into his duffel bag and sat up again.</p><p>“You know, the more you tell us, the less likely that is. Right now? All we know is that you’re basically a captive spirit. We could shoot you full of salt and be done. Want to convince us otherwise? Start talking.” Jacob nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee. The last two words had been an irrevocable command. Already the necklace under his shirt was sparking, warming against his skin threateningly.</p><p>“Your father...” here Jacob hesitated. Hunter-PG version. The brothers didn’t need the whole, sordid tale now. “He kept me. He found me in a basement, trapped on one of his hunts. Pulled me out. Took me with him for, uh,” Jacob counted months quickly, “just over a year.” Sam’s eyes went wide. Dean’s did too.</p><p>“And he never told us.” Sam gestured at him. “That he picked up some kid on a hunt.” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“Why’d he keep you?” Dean’s voice was low. Rough. Jacob shrugged and tugged his necklace out from under his shirt. It was already starting to cool.</p><p>“Cursed necklace. I’m basically a slave.” John had used him for more than he’d ever expected. Honestly, Jacob was probably the reason why John knew as much as he did about demons. Jacob flipped it over in his hand. Sam squinted.</p><p>“That’s an old symbol for handcuffs. Chains.” Realization was dawning on their faces. Dean was looking at him over his shoulder with something like hatred, cold and flat and dark. Sam looked more sick.</p><p>“Kill me,” Jacob offered. “Please.” He’d welcome it right now.</p><p>“Talk.”</p><p>“I was bullied. A lot. I was the geek at school.” Jacob saw the glance the brothers shared. “Long story short, a group project went wrong. Religious symbols got combined, we built a website after trying to create a mini-culture, a new world. Of course, what’s on the web stays there.” Jacob swallowed hard. He’d been such an idiot. “The idea of a tool that allowed for slavery got a lot of...uh, attention. We didn’t know what a tulpa actually was. So when we made jewelry for the project, hands-on portion, y’know, well.” Jacob swallowed and hooked a finger under the chain. “Lucky me.” Sam looked like a landed fish. Jacob knew it was completely outlandish. Hell, he still couldn’t believe it some days.</p><p>“So that went on. You’re stuck now.” Dean sounded less like he wanted to kill him. Hey, that was a plus. “How’d you end up with Dad?” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“High school wasn’t very long ago. This,” he wiggled the chain, “puts a lot of restrictions on me. Suddenly I couldn’t be more than a mile from whoever had the control.” Jacob shivered. “So I got passed around. Family thought I’d died. No.” He smiled distantly, without humor or joy. “No. I just became a slave. Got passed around, ended up with a man who got himself killed by a ghost. Your dad ganked the ghost. Took me with him.” Sam sat up.</p><p>“Dad wouldn’t take a, a, a slave,” Sam sputtered. Jacob shrugged again.</p><p>“He heard my whole story, Sam. Kept me until you two came along. And now here we are.” Jacob turned back to his coffee. It was still hot, thank God. Silence hung heavy between them, like smoke in the air.</p><p>“But what the fuck is the control? We never got anything.” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“Could be words. What did he tell you?”</p><p>“Told us we had a new brother.” Jacob winced at the zing from his necklace. Sam focused on him, eyes laser-sharp. “That was it, wasn’t it?” Jacob nodded. “Fuck,” the hunter breathed out, long and slow.</p><p>“But what does that mean? You said you had to stay inside a mile. Means there’s more. What else?”</p><p>“If you order me with intent, I can’t refuse.” The brothers looked at each other. Jacob fiddled with the stitching of the seat. And damn, he’d tried on more than one occasion. “If Sam told me to go eat something and didn’t care if I did, I could choose not to. But if he told me to throw something at you and meant it,” he nodded over at Dean, “then I’d have consequences if I didn’t.” They were speechless again. Jacob sighed. “Try it, go on.” There was a moment where only the radio could be heard. Jacob smirked, opened his mouth, and started to sing along to the radio. He knew his voice was trash when he was tired. Dean cleared his throat.</p><p>“Be quiet.” Dean’s voice lilted with a question and Jacob’s collar stayed cool and quiet against his shirt. He shrugged and leaned back further, still singing along. It was a good thing he knew this song.</p><p>“Stop singing,” Sam said, his voice soft. Jacob’s necklace crackled when he kept going. “Oh shit.” The hunter had probably seen the tiny flash of electricity. Jacob closed his mouth.</p><p>“Not too hard. You’ll figure it out real quick during a hunt. You’ll get used to it. Might even start liking it,” he goaded.</p><p>“Shut up!” Dean’s voice came out low and harsh. Jacob’s teeth clicked shut as his necklace crackled again. He knew he’d have to be quiet for a long time before this wore off. Dean’s eyes went very wide. “Oh shit.” Jacob shrugged again. They sat in awkward silence before Jacob made a quick ‘well?’ gesture at them both in the rear view mirror. They’d made orders, he was stuck here until they broke them or they wore off. Which, considering the strength of Dean’s ‘shut up,’ he’d be mute for at least a few hours.</p><p>“Shit. We, uh, we have to cancel them?” Jacob nodded. This had been so much easier with John. Of course, John only really ever ordered him to stay, burn things, research, and sleep after setting ground rules. He’d been sort of like a dog to the older man. When he hadn’t been ‘helping’ with research, anyway.</p><p>“Be free,” Dean grunted. Jacob snickered.</p><p>“If only, man.” He picked up his cup again. “It’s in two parts. Destroy every iteration of the information on a bunch of servers, then destroy this.” He tucked his necklace under his shirt. “Look on the bright side. You have a dog now.” Both hunters threw their hands up. The car swerved for a moment before Dean started steering again.</p><p>“Woah, woah,” Sam nearly yelped. “Hell no.” Dean had the same look on his face, though his was cut with a little more anger.</p><p>“Dude,” the darker man nearly growled, “not okay. You think you’re a fuckin’ dog?” Jacob tilted his head to one side and then the other.</p><p>“I’m human. But I have to obey commands. It’s basically a collar. Have to stay close to you.” Jacob pulled his knees to his chest and fiddled with the seat’s leather again. “How else do you want me to say it?” There was another burst of awkward silence. He glanced up. The brothers were looking at each other and for a moment he was baffled. Then he saw the micro-expressions. They were having an entire conversation with just facial expressions? Then Sam’s face shut down. Dean smirked.</p><p>“Hah!” The older hunter barked. Jacob flinched from the loud noise even though he’d been almost expecting it. “You’re sticking with us, kid.” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“It was either that or you shoot me. You don’t seem like the ‘cold-hearted murder’ type. I’ll be useful, swear.” Dean scoffed.</p><p>“Just don’t get arrested.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fixing the Cracks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Dean get to know Jacob a little more.  Ground rules get set.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>March 2006 - near Imogene, Minnesota</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Lay it out,” Dean ordered. Jacob groaned and let his head thud onto the table. They were settled at a small diner in Imogene, Minnesota, six hours from where the brothers had picked him up. Jacob had offered to buy dinner. Neither hunter asked where he produced the cash to buy a round of burgers and some coffee.  Hunters drank three things: coffee, soda, and alcohol.  Coffee whenever they needed to be awake, soda when coffee wasn’t socially appropriate, alcohol any other time.  Even after three years of this life, Jacob still wasn’t sure how anyone functioned on the odd combination of uppers and downers.</p><p>“Collar’s stuck on. You’re stuck with me. Unless you lay down standing ground rules, I have to wait for you to order me before I can do jack shit. John had a set of rules. I’m sure yours will be similar. You can leave rules in place from previous owners. I have one or two that are still active from when the collar went on.” He picked up his head and took a large gulp of coffee. It was decent. Not hot enough, but he’d take what he could get.</p><p>“Rules?” Jacob nodded.</p><p>“John didn’t have many, but they were things like stay in the truck unless ordered, don’t open the door or answer the phone unless something specific happens first, and don’t talk back unless raising a genuine point.” Jacob sipped his coffee again. “Still-placed rules include: Never physically hurt anyone unless they want to harm you, ask permission before doing anything not established by the rules, no self-harm or suicide, and be respectful.” He didn’t tell the brothers that half of John’s rules had been added after he and John had gotten into an argument that ended with him getting kicked out of the truck.  Some things didn’t need to be told.</p><p>“So do we just...make a list?” Sam’s fingers twitched.  Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“Write it down if you want.  You can add more later if you’ve forgotten anything.  You just have to be able to either show or tell me so I can agree to them.” Dean and Sam traded a look.  “My current ground rules will stay in effect until you add or change them.  You don’t have to do anything about them right this moment.” The waitress chose that moment to deliver three baskets of burgers and fries, along with another round of coffee.  The trio ate quietly for a minute before Sam spoke, his expression thoughtful, “how airtight do these rules have to be?” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“They don’t have to be pure legalese, if that’s what you’re asking.  As long as you handle me like I’m a human, we won’t have problems.  Tell me I have to eat out of a dog dish, I’ll find as many loopholes as I can.” Dean scoffed.  Jacob shoved a few fries in his mouth, avoiding Sam’s too-keen eyes.  Finally the younger hunter turned back to his meal and Jacob sighed.</p><p>“I hear you there, man.” Dean pushed his empty basket away and eyed Jacob’s fries.  He pushed the basket to the older hunter and leaned back in his seat, wrapping his hands around his beige coffee mug.  “Hey, kid.” He glanced up at Dean, who was idly swiping the stolen fries through a mountain of ketchup before shoving them in his mouth.  “Run out to Baby and grab your book.” Green eyes met his for a moment.  “You said you had stuff on werewolves, right?” Oh, yeah.  Jacob slid out of the booth and caught the keys Sam tossed him.</p><p>“Take your time,” Sam told him, leaning back in his seat.  Jacob shrugged.  He didn’t mind taking a short walk.  He wandered out to the Impala, dug through his duffel for the journal he’d been working on since he’d had the collar put on, and wandered back into the diner.  Sam and Dean had their heads bent together and were scribbling on a scrap sheet of paper.  Jacob settled back in his seat, flipped the journal open to the section on werewolves, and busied himself with re-reading the information he’d learned from John.  There wasn’t much.  John had never been great about sharing and Jacob had never actually seen a werewolf with his own eyes.  Maybe that would change soon.</p><p>
  <em> Werewolf - human-wolf hybrid creatures.  These creatures appear human during the day but transform during the peak of the lunar cycle.  Characteristics include pointed teeth, claws, and canine eyes.  They maintain a mostly-human appearance.  They gain a feral mentality and do not remember what happened while in wolf-form. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To kill: silver bullet to heart. </em>
</p><p>Jacob amused himself for long minutes by sketching a werewolf’s teeth in a perfectly-sized blank on the page with a stubby pencil he’d found in his duffel bag.  Finally, boredom nipping at him, he sat back and drained the rest of his (now cold) coffee.  The brothers were still bickering, still hunched over the paper.</p><p>“So…” he started, “what are you working on?” They didn’t have any active cases, and that tiny scrap didn’t look like a newspaper.  Were they really putting that much thought into his ground rules?  Sam looked from him to the paper, then to Dean.  Dean sighed.  He slid the paper across the table. Jacob scanned it. It was a list, scrawled in careful black ink. “You get to decide on those.” Jacob laughed quietly, closing his journal and setting it aside.</p><p>“You guys really aren’t used to being in charge of anyone, are you?” Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Jacob grinned. “It’s kinda cute.” Sam’s cheeks went pink.</p><p>“Jesus, how old are you again?” Dean scowled.</p><p>“I’m really only a few years younger than you.“ Jacob glanced down at the list again. “My life’s just been...different than yours.” Sam scoffed and looked away. Jacob smiled dryly. “I’ve only been hunting for a few years. You grew up with it. No, I’ve just spent several years of my life coming to terms with the fact that, short of death, I’m stuck following random people around until they get tired of me.” He shrugged.</p><p>“Yeah, fine,” Dean grunted. “You got a problem with that list?” Jacob had to sit back and actually read it now.</p><ul>
<li>No self harm or suicide.</li>
<li>Ask permission for anything not previously discussed.</li>
<li>Do not harm others unless they intend to harm you.</li>
<li>Take care of your body.</li>
<li>Make sure we know where you’re going.</li>
<li>Do not share anything said by a Winchester unless given explicit permission by a Winchester.</li>
<li>Do not lie.</li>
</ul><p>Jacob nodded. This was almost the same list John had ended up with, just before Jacob had been handed off to the brothers. Of course, these two didn’t need to know that. </p><p>“Are you like a genie?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam stifled a snort. “Like,” Dean tried again, “if I tell you to go buy ham, can you come back with like, a live pig and tell me it’s pre-ham?” Jacob grinned.  The brothers were smarter than John had really given them credit for.  Sure, he knew they were smart.  But not smart like this.</p><p>“If I decided to be an ass, sure. But no. If you were to tell me ‘stay’ I wouldn’t be stuck like a statue. The collar’s more of a shock collar than a will-removing device. I’m not a spirit. I can move outside of my house, if that makes sense.” He tapped the list idly. “Think of it this way. I’m a human. You can tell me to do shit but if I’m pissed off at you or what you’re telling me to do, I won’t. Not unless you order me to. Capiche?” They both nodded.  “Anyway.  I like these.  You gonna keep the standing rules in place?” Sam shook his head.</p><p>“Nope.  Just gonna come back to these if we have a problem.” Jacob’s amusement died.  He swallowed at the thread of steel in Sam’s voice.  He was usually the softer one of the two.  Jacob wasn’t sure he liked the threat lacing Sam’s voice, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and salute the hunter.  He nodded warily.  “Great.” Sam relaxed.  Jacob swallowed and reached up to brush his fingers over the iron chain around his neck.  It lay cool and quiet against his skin, but he could have sworn it had vibrated a little when Sam made his threat.  Dean was kicked back in his seat, pale eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.</p><p>“Sammy’s got teeth,” he nearly purred into the silence hanging around them.  “No one expects him to have a bark.  Or a bite.  But he’s got both and man, it never gets old.” Sam punched him in the shoulder.</p><p>“Shut up, Christ.” Jacob swallowed again, reaching out to slide his journal across the table.  Both brothers eyed him with a heady mix of emotions.  Was Sam <em> sorry?   </em></p><p>“I don’t have much.  John’s journal probably has more.” Jacob wrapped his hands around his coffee mug again.  The waitress stopped by as Sam reached to open the journal and for a moment everything paused as she refilled their mugs.  Then she was gone in a whirl of cheap blue cotton, Sam was cracking open the slowly-filling leather journal with more care than Jacob had ever handled it with, and Jacob was nearly inhaling the fresh coffee.  Dean was still lounging in his seat, left arm draped over the back of the booth, right hand curled around his steaming mug.  He was watching Jacob with almost predatory amusement.</p><p>Jacob couldn’t help but notice that Dean always claimed the outside spot when they sat at booths like this.  He hardly ever got up to piss, though, so why?  It was something the brothers did without thinking about it, which meant it was a habit instilled by John.  Which meant there was a deeper meaning to it.  Sam glanced up from his perusal of Jacob’s journal and his mouth curved into a loose grin.  Dean’s fingers tightened around the mug.</p><p>“You two gonna talk, or what?” A waitress wandered by, hefting a full coffee pot invitingly. Jacob eyed the pot and his quickly-emptying mug, and waffled.  Dean jerked his head and the waitress offered Jacob a warm smile as she refilled his mug.  Then the woman was gone as promptly as she appeared.  Dean relaxed.  It clicked.</p><p>“You’re protecting him,” Jacob breathed, revelation and incredulity warring in him.  Dean’s eyes widened from amusement into confusion.</p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” The arm framing Sam’s shoulders tensed, then relaxed.  Sam leaned back into his seat and Jacob wondered if the brothers were even aware of how much they leaned on each other.  Metaphorically and physically.  Did they realize how they covered each other’s backs when they walked into a new room?  Or how Sam looked for Dean when he woke up?  Or how Dean always made sure Sam had food before he’d eat anything?  </p><p>Dean leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in what Jacob hoped was curiosity.  “You wanna repeat that?” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“You protect him.” Dean’s mouth got very thin and very hard.  Jacob couldn’t help but notice just how green the man’s eyes were as they bored into his.</p><p>“You got a problem with it?”</p><p>“Nope.”  And wasn’t that a kicker?  Jacob didn’t have a problem with it.  He didn’t care what the two brothers did.  He didn’t care that Dean would just as soon gut an innocent waitress as let someone hurt his kid brother.  He didn’t worry about the fact that Sam, easily four inches taller than Dean, let himself be bossed around and coddled like he was ten years old instead of twenty-fucking-two.  Part of him wanted to care.  Part of him wanted to point out the codependency issues even he could spot blindfolded from a mile away.  But the larger part of him, the part that had watched a Hunter exorcise a demon out of his History teacher four years ago, watched John Winchester fire a sawed-off shotgun at a transparent human screaming in his face as he huddled under a table and prayed to an apathetic God, watched the brothers ignore all logic and let him into the closest thing they had to a home, that part of him didn’t care.  Not one bit.</p><p>“Good.”</p><hr/><p>Jacob spent the next two hours crammed into the back of the Impala.  He’d given up the idea of ‘comfortable’ after twenty minutes.  Both footwells had been stuffed full of clothing, trash, and a random wool blanket.  The first six hours hadn’t mattered that much, not when he’d felt like he was sitting on eggshells the whole time.  But now that the brothers had set ground rules, Jacob knew he was staying with them.  Which meant if this was going to be a regular event, something had to give.  He nudged Sam, who turned to him.</p><p>“Sup?”</p><p>“Can I, uh, move stuff?” Sam stared at him for a long moment.  Jacob held up an empty coffee cup and wiggled it.</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah.  Sorry.” Jacob shrugged.  Sorry wouldn’t help anyone here.  Jacob spent the next fifteen minutes sorting out the backseat.  He could see Dean glancing back occasionally, but the older hunter didn’t say anything until Jacob poked at the soft-sided cooler behind the driver’s seat.</p><p>“Don’t touch that.” Jacob met Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror, leaned down, and nudged it with his toe.  Bottles clinked.  Dean’s lips thinned.  “Fuckin’ bitch.” Jacob grinned.  Instead of poking the bear again, Jacob went back to sorting trash from useful things.  Old coffee cups, soda cans, beer bottles, and bandage wrappers went into one footwell.  Everything else got neatly piled into the other.</p><p>Finally Jacob had somewhere to put his feet.  Of course, it shifted and crackled and crunched and clattered, but it was better than worrying about breaking something useful.  The random blanket got tossed over Sam’s head where he was leaning on the window.  The taller man jumped, which made Jacob grin all the wider.</p><p>“Dude, you were such a bitch when we picked you up.  Now this.  What the hell?” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“John didn’t tell me anything.  You guys could have been rapists.” He hadn’t expected the two men that had gotten out of the muscle car.  Okay, he’d expected the build and height, sort of.  But he hadn’t expected to get kindly bossed into buying food, or to have his own money shoved down his shirt when he tried to pay.  Or to have ground rules set that reinforced his humanity.  It was refreshing.  For the first time in a while, Jacob felt like he could actually act his own age.  Which meant alternating between kindness and being a ‘bitch.’</p><p>“Rapists?  Us?” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“All I got told was to get out of the truck and that my new masters would be getting out of an old Chevy.  Then he drove off.” Sam twisted to look at him.</p><p>“You know where he is?” That made attempt number six to get that particular piece of information out of him.  They weren’t very imaginative when it came to phrasing questions.  If they would just ask in a different way...</p><p>“Not a clue.  He drove west.  At least, he turned west out of the gas station.  I didn’t try to track him.” Sam sighed and turned to the front again.  “I wish I could tell you more,” Jacob pressed.  If these two idiots would just <em> ask </em>.</p><p>“So tell us.” Jacob leaned forward and crossed his arms over the back of the front seat.</p><p>“I can’t just...out of the blue.” He stared at the side of Sam’s head, willing him to just <em> think </em>about it.  “Come on, college boy.” Sam swatted at him.  Jacob ducked the swat.  Dean sighed.  He was probably so happy to have two younger brothers now, Jacob mused, instead of just the one.  “John said you were smart.” Sam bristled a little.  Good.</p><p>“Jacob, tell us John’s intended destination.” Jacob threw his hands up.  Dean jumped.  The car fishtailed for a heartbeat before Dean got it back under control.  In the lane to their left, someone laid on their horn and gunned it past them.  Dean flipped them off.</p><p>“Ding ding ding!” Sam snorted.  “John informed me that he planned to stop in Lewistown, Montana.  After that he told me he planned on continuing west.” The brothers groaned.  Jacob shrugged.  They’d gotten the information they wanted, it wasn’t his fault if it wasn’t useful to them.  “So where are <em> we </em> going?” Dean and Sam traded a look.</p><p>“We’re gonna crash wherever we end up.  You got anything against motels?” Jacob scoffed.  “Didn’t think so.  Now just,” Dean flapped a hand, “be quiet.  Adults are gonna talk.” It was Sam that scoffed this time, but Jacob obediently ducked his head and made himself comfortable on the back seat.  Just as long as they didn’t swing north, he didn’t care where they went.  He had a whole backseat to himself.  This was just fine.</p><hr/><p>Jacob sat up.  He’d been poking through his journal, adding little sketches in places, details here and there depending on how talkative the brothers were feeling.  Sam was usually eager to share.  Dean, not so much.  But Sam had dozed off about half an hour ago, leaving Jacob and Dean sharing silence.  Dean broke it first.</p><p>“So you went on hunts with Dad, huh?” Jacob looked up.</p><p>“Sort of.  He left me in the truck most times.  Didn’t trust me.” Not unless it involved Jacob in the middle of a Devil’s Trap, or unless it was a simple salt’n burn.  He told Dean that.</p><p>“He ever teach you about guns?  Hand to hand?  Any of that?” Jacob leaned forward and crossed his arms over the backrest.</p><p>“John taught me how to disassemble and clean every single gun he owned,” Jacob said, mouth twisting into a frown.  “Tor, my previous master, taught me to throw knives and hand to hand combat.  He was big on makeshift weapons, too.  Molotov cocktails, pipe bombs, tripwires, that sort of thing.  John did teach me how to pick locks and break down doors.” Dean looked like he was pondering that.  Jacob waited.</p><p>“What about exorcisms?”</p><p>“I can recite the entire Rituale Romanum in under a minute.  I know the vade retro satana, all three Leonine Prayers to Michael, and the Anima Christi.  I also know the incantation to summon most black-eyed and red-eyed demons.” Dean turned to stare at him with wide eyes.  Jacob shrugged.  “Tor was a demon hunter, almost exclusively.  I taught John things he never knew he needed to know.” Sam sniffled and twisted in his seat, but settled back to sleep.  Jacob leaned back in his seat.  There was a long silence.</p><p>“You wanna learn how to fire a gun?” Jacob grinned.</p><p>“Dude, I have packed so many rock salt shells, I can’t wait to actually fire one.” Dean gave him an answering grin in the rear view mirror.</p><p>“Good answer.” Jacob turned to stare out the window when Dean didn’t offer any other commentary.  He had no idea where they were, just that they were heading south.  That was fine with him.  He closed his eyes and let the growling purr of the Impala lure him into sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ozone and Silver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Season 1 Episode 7: The Hook Man.</p><p>The trio finds a hunt in Ankeny, Iowa.  Jacob isn't quite sure what to make of the brothers' hunting style.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>March, 2006 - Iowa</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jacob rounded the corner to the small cafe, tucking a few bills into his back pocket and frowning where the brothers had said they’d be. Dean was kicked back in a chair sipping something while staring at a laptop. The chair next to him was empty. So where was the younger brother? Sam was...oh. Sam was leaning against a payphone, scowling as he held it up to his ear. Which meant that whatever he was hearing wasn’t good. Sure enough, he hung up the phone, still scowling. Jacob slid into a seat just as Sam started back toward their table.</p><p>“Your half-caf double-pump venti vanilla latte’s getting cold over here, Francis.” Jacob stole Dean’s coffee and downed it. Dean flicked him off.</p><p>“Bite me,” Sam and Jacob told the man in unison. Dean grinned. Jacob tuned Sam out as he contemplated his next move. Maybe he should try to con a few companies into letting him work for cash? He could pull off the ‘just passing through and need some cash’ routine indefinitely if they moved often enough. And, knowing the brothers, they’d be on the move soon. The $50 he’d made this morning wouldn’t go far. Hell, they’d blown more than that buying snacks on the road some days, never mind trying to get a motel room for a week.</p><p>“...don’t think Dad wants to be found.” Jacob rolled his eyes as he caught the last of Dean’s sentence. Of course he didn’t want to. Why did they think he’d been pawned off to them? He opened his mouth to tell them that. Sam’s gaze cut across to him and he snapped his mouth shut. The younger hunter looked ready for an excuse to rip into him. “But check this out,” Dean said, leaning forward to examine Sam’s beat up laptop. Jacob was grateful for the redirection. Sam looked eerily like John when he glared like that. It made Jacob itch to huddle in on himself, duck his head and hunker down wherever he was. Glares like that had either ended with him in a bruised mess, or in the middle of a Devil’s Trap tied to a chair. “Ankeny, Iowa. Only about a hundred miles from here.” Jacob pulled his thoughts out of his not-so-distant past and tried to focus. So much for making a little more cash, huh?</p><p>Sam read out the news article. A mutilated body found by a parked car on a poorly-traveled road. No description of the killer, the only witness reported it as invisible. That did sound up their alley. The two bickered for a minute about whether to go. Jacob chugged the drink Sam clearly had no intention of touching and by the time he set the empty glass down, they were going. Maybe this case would be exciting. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do all the research this time. Hah, and pigs would fly.</p>
<hr/><p>Jacob stared from the boxes of paper to Sam, who was grinning almost smugly at him. Dean leaned forward and blew a layer of dust into Jacob’s face. He coughed and glared at the older hunter. “This is how you spent four years of your life?” Sam looked at Dean a little indignantly, then relaxed.</p><p>“Welcome to higher education.” Jacob groaned.</p><p>“Knew there was a reason I didn’t go to college.”</p><p>“Yeah, your other self being dead had nothing to do with it,” Dean quipped, then flipped the first box open and handed half of it to him. Jacob stared down at the page without enthusiasm. Tight, cramped handwriting, blurred by a shitty copier. No doubt this was a copy of a copy of a copy. He squinted at the writing. He could decipher about four words in one sentence. He sighed. Not for the first time, he wondered whether life with Tor had really been so much worse than this. At least with Tor, he got to use his brain for more than just reading.</p><p>Him and Sam got to do most of the research. Dean gave it up after an hour, complaining of a headache. He mumbled something about wanting to get a drink but Jacob knew without a doubt he was going to flirt. Men with faces and builds like Dean didn’t just buckle down in libraries. Sure enough, the next time Jacob lifted his eyes from the dry files, Dean was at a table with three attractive young women, clearly wooing them. Jacob groaned, flipped the folder closed, and reached for the next one. He’d made it most of the way through one box while Sam was paging through a book as he wandered through the stacks.</p><p>“Hey,” Sam said, setting his book down on a nearby display. Jacob looked up. “Check this out. 1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. He was so angry over the red-light district in town that one night, he killed thirteen prostitutes.” Jacob sighed. Great, he’d picked the name of a murderer. He supposed it couldn’t be helped. “Some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood,” uh, ew, “others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.” Jacob wiped at his face. Okay, so they had the person. Also how the hell was hanging someone upside down a deterrent against sex? That was just a deterrent for life.</p><p>Dean stepped up to Sam’s side, his face solemn like he hadn’t just been flirting with college students. “And it looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident, had it replaced with a silver hook.” And it had all happened at Nine Mile Road, where the boy had been killed. Jacob started stacking up the files, piled them back into the boxes, and trailed the brothers out. This would be fun.</p>
<hr/><p>Now, as he gave Dean a leg up into the house where Lori had lived with her now-deceased roommate, he was coming to realize the fun was just starting. This was very different than hunting with John. John didn’t engage with people like these two did. He didn’t sneak into houses. He would have just stared the cops down and walked in. These two were way more fun.</p><p>He stuck his head around the corner of the house. A police officer was approaching the front door and he sighed. Craning his neck up toward the open window, he heard the sound of the front door opening. Well, nothing for it. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. There was a quiet thud from the upstairs. Boots began to thud in his direction and Jacob waited until the officers caught sight of him.</p><p>“Hey, wait!” the first officer cried as Jacob turned. “Police, stop!” Jacob grinned as he took off, two overweight officers in pursuit. He was fresh off an extended stay with retired Marine John Winchester, who still believed in long runs, cardio, and combat drills every morning. These backwater officers had nothing on him. He proceeded to lead them on a long, drawn out chase through the neighborhood. He was just hitting his stride, still breathing long and easy when the officers gave up and turned back for their cars. Jacob gave it another ten minutes, settling into a ground-eating lope down the street. He’d missed running.</p><p>“Hey, need a ride?” He grinned over at Sam. The hunter was eyeing him with surprised amusement.</p><p>“Race you,” Jacob panted out. Dean responded by revving the engine, surging forward briefly. Jacob let his stride lengthen, pushing more and more energy into his legs. Dean was laughing now, pulling level with him even as he ran faster and faster. Sam turned and leaned out of the car, a grin splitting his face.</p><p>“Jesus, Jake.” Finally Jacob had to slow down. He dropped from a sprint to a jog, panting for breath even through the smile on his face. Yeah, he’d missed running. Sam and Dean trailed him for several more blocks until he’d cooled down enough to sit.</p><p>“So if we gotta do any running, I know who I’m sending,” Dean remarked as he lobbed a water bottle at Jacob. He gulped half of it.</p><p>“You ever try running in hiking boots?”</p><p>“Yeah, it sucks.”</p>
<hr/><p>Six hours later found Jacob shoulder-deep in a hole. Dean was at his side and together, they shoveled deeper and deeper. “John and Tor always made me dig,” Jacob mumbled as he had to stoop to pull a rock from the grave. He hefted it over the side with a grunt and picked his shovel back up. Dean snorted but said nothing. His next stroke thudded dully. Jacob tapped where Dean’s shovel was. It certainly sounded hollow. Dean smashed through the lid. Jacob bent and broke a few more boards open to reveal a skeleton, complete with a stereotypical grinning skull. “Hello, preacher,” he purred.</p><p>Jacob climbed out of the hole and dug for the salt, gasoline, and lighter while Dean clambered out. Dean got the gasoline. Jacob had the salt. Only after the bones were on fire did either of them really relax. Theoretically this would be the end of the Hook Man. They took another twenty minutes to fill the grave back in. Jacob cracked his back idly, then threw his shovel over his shoulder.</p><p>“Let’s go.” Dean shouldered the duffel bag and as they started out of the graveyard, Dean’s phone rang. Jacob glanced at him, then back to the dark path. He lifted the flashlight a little more to illuminate the way. “What’s up, Sam?” Dean stopped walking. “Sammy? What do you mean he appeared? We just burned him.” Jacob tugged Dean out of the way of a low gravestone. “Yes, I’m sure it was the right body!” There was a long silence. “We’ll be there.” And then Dean’s phone snapped shut.</p><p>“Where to, boss?” Dean scoffed.</p><p>“Laying it on thick there, kid.” They made it to the hospital in almost-record time. Jacob, on seeing the multiple police cruisers, decided discretion would be the better part of valor. He hid in the backseat with a book while Dean went in to find Sam. He knew after his stunt earlier that day that the cops would be looking for someone of his height and dress. Luckily Dean was tall enough that they wouldn’t mistake him for Jacob. They didn’t need police on their tail so early. Jacob ended up dozing off in the backseat, book falling over his face. He woke to the car doors slamming. He jerked upright.</p><p>“Christo,” he blurted out, blinking around himself. Why was he in the footwell of the Impala? Sam burst into startled laughter.</p><p>“You have a problem, dude.” Dean pulled out of the parking lot.</p><p>“Any news?” Jacob tried to wake himself up. “Yeah. Hook Man is attached to Lori. Fulfilling her desires. The pushy boyfriend, party-girl Taylor, her cheating father.” Sam sighed. “Now we have to go find his damned hook.” Jacob groaned and boosted himself up into the seat.</p><p>“Source of his power. Of course. Probably not intact, huh? No giant hook just sitting around in someone’s basement.” Of course, that meant more research. “I’ll make you guys a deal. You do the research, I’ll go...find somewhere to make us some cash.” He hated research. Hated the deskwork, even if he did have a terrifyingly good memory for symbols, sigils, and incantations. Dean made a rude noise.</p><p>“Nope. You’re stuck with us, book boy.” Jacob groaned, long and loud. Sam snorted.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean was the one who struck gold this time. In a massive logbook for the Iowa State Penitentiary, Dean found Karns’ entry. All of his possessions had been given to his church. In this case, St. Barnabas Church. Jacob bolted for the book of church records they’d found two hours ago. He handed it to Sam, who flipped it open and started scanning. “St. Barnabas donations, 1862,” Sam read out, “received a silver-handled hook from State Penitentiary.” Jacob held his breath. This could be easy. Please, let this be easy. “Reforged.” Or not. The trio let out long groans. Of course the damn thing had been reforged. Now they had to find anything silver. Wherever it could have been. Jacob could only hope that none of the pieces had even left the church. They piled into the Impala, Sam and Dean squabbling briefly over the keys. Jacob just popped the trunk, pulled out the shotguns and handfuls of rock salt shells, and clambered into the backseat.</p><p>The sun had set while they were in the library, leaving them in almost pitch-darkness. No moon, cloudy night. He was glad they were headed indoors. He didn’t like hunting things down when there was no moon. Sure, he had crazy-good night vision, but he never got enough time for his eyes to adjust. Not since joining on with John. Of course, he was sure that if he ever said anything to John, the man would have ordered him to wear a blindfold everywhere he went, just to keep that night vision intact for whenever it was needed. He had been nothing more than a service dog to the man, most days.</p><p>Dean led the way into the church while Sam split off to get into the attached house. Jacob glanced around almost furtively. He’d never been in a place like this before, and to do it now, on this occasion seemed a little...rude. But neither brother seemed affected. Jacob paused to look around. Long benches, all made out of wood lined both sides of the church. The stained glass windows were dark, but when a flashlight’s beam caught even a corner, they lit up in spectacular brilliance. Dean hissed his name and Jacob looked up.</p><p>“Come on, kid. Remember, hunt? Silver goes in the fire, now let’s move!” Jacob trotted over to where Dean was rifling through the altar. “Go start a fire downstairs. Salt it. I’ll meet you there in a few.” Jacob caught the salt and lighter, one in each hand, and scanned the room until he found the right doorway. Down a flight of creaky wooden steps, and he found the stove, tucked against a wall in the kitchen. It was an old wood-burning thing, and Jacob thanked God that there was already wood and kindling stacked nearby. It was the work of a minute to start a fire and Jacob poked around the kitchen while he waited for the larger kindling to catch. Finally it did. He threw a larger log onto it with a sigh, sending sparks spiraling up the chimney.</p><p>“Salt it yet?” Sam dropped an armful of silver jewelry and trinkets onto the kitchen table. Jacob flicked several generous handfuls into the flames. Sam nodded and started tossing the jewelry into the fire. “Dean need help?” Footsteps on the stairs was their answer. Dean dropped his load onto the table. He’d found larger pieces, goblets and a serving tray and several candle holders. Jacob took over the job of pitching things into the fire while also keeping the damn thing hot enough to actually melt the metal. He was just glad the hook had been silver as opposed to titanium or platinum. “I got anything that even looks silver,” Sam said, rummaging through the pile.</p><p>“Better safe than sorry,” Dean grunted. Jacob watched both hunters’ eyes focus straight upwards as the floorboards creaked. He threw another handful of jewelry into the fire. “Move, move,” Dean chanted. Jacob met his green eyes and nodded to the fireplace.</p><p>“Shout if you need help.”</p><p>“Just keep burning that shit.” Jacob threw another goblet into the fire, followed by a handful of salt. Dean snorted. The two hunters climbed the stairs with surprising quiet and Jacob turned his attention back to the fire. This was his first hunt with the brothers, he reminded himself as frustration set to a low simmer in his belly. Of course they weren’t just going to hand him a weapon and expect him to cover their backs. This was still more interesting than almost anything John had let him do. If he’d been with John on this hunt, he’d be curled up in the bed of the truck, waiting for the man to return.</p><p>Dean came back down the stairs. “Just Lori,” he said quietly. Jacob threw the last of the silver into the fire and prodded it with a poker. Dean leaned on the kitchen table, and Jacob let him be. Jacob was just setting the poker down when his pendant gave an odd little thump on his chest. It wasn’t painful, wasn’t hot, it was more like someone had just poked him in the chest. Jacob frowned and rubbed at it. It hadn’t done this since he’d followed John into a house to gank a ghost a month ago. “Jacob?” He looked up. Dean was eyeing him, arms crossed over his chest defensively.</p><p>“Uh, nothing,” Jacob mumbled. “My collar’s just...being weird.”</p><p>“What kinda weird?”</p><p>“Can I explain later?” Dean rolled his eyes.</p><p>“If it gets us killed, I’ll haunt you forever.” Jacob nodded a little absently. Someone screamed upstairs. Was that Lori? Then there was the sound of wood breaking and another scream. The floorboards creaked as two sets of footsteps thundered across them and into another room. Dean was gone between one heartbeat and the next. Jacob dithered. Was he allowed to go help? Or should he stay here? More thudding and crashing and screaming. His pendant thumped once, twice more and began to grow hot. Jacob threw all caution to the wind and bolted up the stairs. He emerged into chaos. Dean had a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. Sam was standing between an ephemeral man and Lori, who was huddled against the wall. Blood stained the sleeve of Sam’s jacket.</p><p>“Sam, drop!” Dean roared. Sam hit the ground. Jacob watched as Dean fired a round of rock salt into the ghost, dispersing it into wisps of smoke.</p><p>“I thought we got all the silver,” Sam said angrily, turning to his brother.</p><p>“So did I.”</p><p>“Then why is he still here?” Jacob looked at Lori. His eyes caught the tiny glimpse of silver at her neck, illuminated by Dean’s waving flashlight where he was arguing with his brother.</p><p>“Lori,” Jacob called, ignoring the fact that they technically hadn’t met. She looked at him, her eyes wide and terrified. “Lori,” he said a little softer, “where did you get your necklace?” She wrapped trembling fingers around it.</p><p>“It was a gift from my father.” Jacob made a ‘go on’ motion, then flinched as the spirit began to carve a long furrow in the wall between him and Dean. “It was a church heirloom, he said.” Sam’s eyes lit up.</p><p>“Is it silver?” she nodded. Without further explanation, Sam plucked the necklace from her and tossed it to Dean, who passed it to Jacob. Jacob nearly vaulted over the stairs before rationality caught up to him. The kitchen wasn’t big enough for that kind of trick. He took the stairs three at a time, then tossed the necklace into the dying fire and began to work as a miniature bellows. He just needed the necklace to melt. Come on, come on. He blew harder. He could hear muffled shouts and gunshots. Then silence. He realized the silver was softening, wrapping itself around a small ember. He blew long and slow into the fire once, twice more, then sat back. The necklace was as gone as it could be.</p><p>He sighed and got to his feet. “Jake,” Dean shouted down the stairs, “nice work, man!” Jacob trotted up the stairs and nodded to the older hunter. Sam and Lori were both blinking at each other, then at Dean, then to Jacob. They both looked a little shell-shocked. Jacob sighed, scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair, and turned for the door. He didn’t want to be here when the police rolled up. Police and Jacob didn’t get along for multiple reasons and every time he interacted with them, they found a reason to dislike him even more.</p><p>“Sorry about him,” he heard Sam tell Lori, “he’s, uh, not great with people, you know?” Jacob scoffed to himself and let the door close behind him. Him, great with people? Of course he wasn’t.</p>
<hr/><p>He hid in the backseat of the Impala while Sam, Dean, and Lori spun their story to the police. Lori was fine with leaving Jacob out of the story after Sam told her that he’d gotten on their bad side by loitering in the wrong places. New to town, he’d said. Luckily Lori had been understanding.</p><p>“Don’t worry, we’re leaving town,” Dean said casually as he turned for the Impala. Jacob, curled up under several layers of things - blankets, a jacket, even a few books - snorted softly. The brothers were pretty good at bald-faced lies, he had to admit. He heard Dean settle in the driver’s seat.</p><p>“Sam good?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “Havin’ a chick flick moment with the girl.” Jacob snorted.</p><p>“Let him have some fun.”</p><p>“Oh, I gotta give him some shit. Older brother’s rights.” Dean went quiet. Jacob sighed and closed his eyes. He was starting to overheat under the layers of random stuff, but he knew it was better than being in handcuffs in the back of a cruiser. The passenger door of the Impala opened. Sam slid in, and the door closed. There was a moment of loaded silence.</p><p>“We could stay,” Dean offered. Jacob groaned quietly. Dean reached back and swatted at him. Jacob heard Sam scoff.</p><p>“No. Let’s go.” Jacob sighed. Thank God. The engine rumbled to life and before Jacob could offer any more non-vocal commentary, they were on the move. Jacob waited two full songs before he spoke up.</p><p>“Can I move now?”</p><p>“Nope.” Dean sounded smug.</p><p>“Dean,” Jacob sighed. He really was starting to overheat. He waited for another song. “How about now?” He felt Sam lean back and pat somewhere near his head.</p><p>“You’re a fugitive now, kid. This is your new life.” Jacob threw the blanket off of his head and glared at Sam, who cracked a small smile. “Welcome to fugitivity, Jake.” Jacob rolled his eyes and climbed up onto the backseat.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Green Giant.” He made himself comfortable on the bench seat and watched the road speed by. “Okay, so where now?” He saw Dean shrug.</p><p>“Guess we’ll find out when we get there.” They drove in silence for approximately ten minutes before Dean glanced back. Jacob sat up at the look in his eyes. “Talk to me about the weirdo collar.” Jacob sighed. “Hey, we gotta know.” He tugged it out from under his shirt. Sam turned to look at him.</p><p>“What weirdo thing?”</p><p>“My collar did something weird in the church,” Jacob said, fiddling with the cold iron pendant. “We were melting down the silver while you were upstairs and it felt like someone was poking me in the chest. But it was coming from the collar.” Sam’s face twisted thoughtfully.</p><p>“Has it done that before?”</p><p>“Once. I followed your dad into a house to help gank a ghost.” There was a long moment of silence.</p><p>“I got nothing,” Dean said.</p><p>“Yeah, me neither.”</p><p>“It didn’t hurt, it was just weird,” Jacob offered, shrugging.</p><p>“Maybe we could call Bobby,” Sam said to Dean. Dean didn’t look happy with that idea, based on the partial expression Jacob could make out in the reflection of the windshield. Who was Bobby? He was just opening his mouth to ask when Dean spoke.</p><p>“If it happens again, sure. Otherwise we’re gonna keep it quiet.” Sam was the one to look unhappy now.</p><p>“What, why?”</p><p>“Because Bobby doesn’t know about Jake, Sam! You wanna tell Bobby we’re hauling a kid like Jake around?” Jacob winced at Dean’s words. Sure, he knew he wasn’t fun to have around, but Dean was making him sound either like a curse or like deadweight. He tried hard not to be either of those.</p><p>“So we should tell Bobby.”</p><p>“No.” Sam scowled. Jacob tried to ignore the tense, awkward silence building between the brothers. But there was nothing he could do right now. Not when he was the topic of the argument. He sighed. This would be a long drive to whoever-knows-where. Maybe they’d stop for food soon. He didn’t think so. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Supernatural is not great with specific timelines.  I'm going to throw timelines (as best as I know them) in, just so everyone knows where we are.  Let me know if it's helpful or obnoxious.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Freaks Come Out At Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Season 1 Episode 10: Asylum.</p>
<p>The trio goes to investigate Roosevelt Asylum.  Jacob thinks a lot about family.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>April 2006  - Rockford, Illinois<br/></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jacob jerked awake as Dean tugged at the journal he was using as a pillow.  He sat upright, blinking around himself blearily.  “What?” Dean didn’t answer, but flipped through the journal until he found whatever he was looking for, then thrust it under Sam’s nose.  They were somewhere in northern Illinois.  Jacob thought they were headed somewhere in western Wisconsin but based on the noises the brothers were making, it sounded like they were going to stay in Illinois for a few more days.  He stretched, groaning as joints clicked.  Sam glanced at him, wincing as he turned away from Dean and ran a hand through his hair.  Jacob shot him a smirk.  He never would have guessed that cracking joints would weird Sam out, but it was a surefire way to get him to chicken out.  Dean snorted.</p>
<p>“So this is a job.” Sam turned back to Dean.  “Dad wants us to work a job.” He didn’t look or sound very pleased.  </p>
<p>“Maybe we’ll meet up with him.  Maybe he’s there.” Dean’s voice rose in excitement.</p>
<p>“Maybe he’s not.  Maybe he’s just sending us there by ourselves to hunt this thing.”</p>
<p>“Who cares?” Jacob sighed and started packing up his duffel.  This was an old argument.  Even Jacob, who had only been with the brothers a few months, knew it.  Whenever John got brought up, they did whatever John wanted.  Sam would huff and pout and growl, Dean would growl back, and they’d do what John wanted.  “If he wants us there, it’s good enough for me.” Dean closed the lid to Sam’s laptop.  </p>
<p>“This doesn’t strike you as, I dunno, weird?” Jacob wished Sam would just shut up.  They all knew Sam was going to lose this discussion.  “The texting, the coordinates?” Dean turned to face Sam and Jacob sighed, wondering what the best way to muzzle Sam was.  Maybe a pair of socks and some duct tape?  Tor had always sworn by a necktie, but Jacob was pretty sure Sam would strangle him with it if he tried.</p>
<p>“Sam,” Dean nearly barked, “Dad’s telling us to go somewhere.  So we’re going.” End of story, apparently, because Dean turned and started packing up his own bags.  Sam wavered for a moment, face screwed up like he wanted to bark something back.  Jacob pushed past him, pointedly pulling his duffel over his shoulder.  Sam let out a long breath and turned for his own gear.  Jacob rolled his eyes, scooped up John’s journal, and went out to the Impala.  True to training, the brothers were at his side less than five minutes later.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The drive to Rockford, Illinois was exhausting, in Jacob’s opinion.  They stopped at a McDonald’s for dinner not long after they’d left the motel, and ate sitting on the curb because “no one eats in my Baby,” Dean had proclaimed loudly.  Sam had scoffed and received a slap to the head for his trouble.  Jacob hadn’t pointed out the multiple occasions Dean had joined them eating in the Impala, one only a few days ago.  Then it was back into the Impala, where Dean blasted the radio, Sam brooded, and Jacob gave up reading after thirty seconds because it was too dark and his flashlight was dead.  So he slept.  If they were on a case, sleep would be precious until whatever it was they were hunting was ganked.  Add to that the fact that the brothers had a weird hunting sleep schedule, and, well, Jacob wanted to get as much sleep as he could.</p>
<p>He woke to the sound of Baby’s engine going quiet.  He sat up, blinked a few times, and squinted.  Another motel.  This one had a bar attached.  Sam and Dean were both deep in thought.  Jacob leaned forward.</p>
<p>“Penny for your thoughts?” they both jumped.  He laughed quietly.</p>
<p>“We need a way to talk to the cop,” Dean grunted.  “His partner is the one that shot his wife.” Jacob frowned.</p>
<p>“Stage a fight.  Someone goes in, interrogates him, gets dragged out.  His ‘rescuer’ comes back in, thanks the cop, gets the real story.” Sam squinted at him.  He shrugged.  “Just an idea.” Dean nudged him.</p>
<p>“Better than what we got.” Jacob made himself comfortable on the backseat again and closed his eyes.  The two of them could handle this, right?  “Oh no.  Come on, kid.” Jacob opened one eye to look at Dean.  Both brothers were grinning at him.  “You two slept the whole way.  My turn now.  This is your plan.” Jacob sighed and sat up.  Dean climbed out of the car and made for the motel’s front office.</p>
<p>“Maybe I should interrogate him,” Jacob said carefully.  Sam raised an eyebrow.  “Well, intern, right?  I can tell him I’m from a...a newspaper?  And just tell him my supervisors thought it would be a good idea to catch him at the bar.” Sam rolled his eyes with an incredulous smirk.</p>
<p>“Of course, they’d buy it too.  Everyone’s got shit bosses.  I’ll just get all pissed off and drag you off him.” Jacob shrugged.  Sounded good to him.  He dug for the right IDs, making sure he’d grabbed the ‘journalism intern’ ID as opposed to ‘medical student.’  That would be awkward.  When he was set, he looked up at Sam.  The hunter nodded and they got out of the car.  Jacob’s stomach flipped once, then settled.  This would be interesting.  In the end, it didn’t really matter how much information <em> he </em>got from the cop, it was Sam’s job to get the real information out of him.  With that reassuring thought, Jacob pushed his way into the bar, up to the counter and ordered a root beer.  The bartender scowled but relaxed when Jacob offered him an ID that stated he was twenty-two.  Jacob sipped at the bottle, scanning the crowd.  The bar wasn’t very full and sure enough, the cop he was looking for was hunched over a small table near the outside wall.  Jacob drank his root beer, paid and tipped generously, then saluted the bartender and crossed to sit in front of the man.</p>
<p>“You’re Daniel Gunderson, right?  The cop?” Dark skin, dark eyes heavy with depression and grief.  Gunderson looked up at him and frowned, rolling his beer between his hands.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Uh, well, I’m Nigel Tufnel, an intern with the Chicago Tribune.” Jacob made sure to fidget as he said this and Gunderson relaxed a little.  “Can I ask you a few questions about your late partner?” The relaxation vanished.  Gunderson’s eyes went cold.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I do.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, it’s just, well,” Jacob waffled for a long moment.  Gunderson sighed.  “My supervisors, they just, uh, they sent me to talk to you.  I’m really sorry, sir.” Jacob made sure to look as awkward as possible.</p>
<p>“Sorry, kid.  I’m just trying to have a beer here, you know?”</p>
<p>“I’m just hoping to hear the story in your own words.  We want to make sure we get everything right, for your and the family’s sake.” Gunderson’s jaw tightened.</p>
<p>“Okay, fine.  A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair, and now he’s dead.  You people are really gonna ambush me here?” Jacob was running out of time and Gunderson was running out of patience.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, sir.  But we need to know what happened.” Jacob knew this was it as Sam rounded the table.  The hunter’s face was set in a dark glare.  Jacob turned to stare at him.  Sam grabbed his jacket and hauled him out of his seat, shoving him away from Gunderson.  Jacob staggered backwards, eyes forced wide.</p>
<p>“Hey buddy,” Sam snarled, “how ‘bout leaving the guy alone, huh?  The man’s an officer.  Why don’t you show him a little respect?” Jacob’s back met a wall and he caught himself, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he forced down the urge to swing.  Sam’s eyes were hard where they met his.  Jacob’s only consolation was the fact that his collar was quiet against his skin.  Jacob stared between Sam and Gunderson for a long moment before dipping his head to the officer.</p>
<p>“Sorry, sir.  Have a nice night.” He could feel Sam’s stare on the back of his head.  He ducked out as quietly as he could.  He’d done his part.  Hopefully Sam could get whatever information they needed.  He made his way back to where the Impala had parked, only to find it missing.  He turned in a slow circle and found it about ten yards from where they’d left it.  Dean was leaning against the hood.  Jacob joined him.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“It’s up to Sasquatch.” Sam emerged twenty minutes later.  Jacob grinned as he approached.  “Shoved me kinda hard in there, man.” Sam shrugged, a small smile ticking at the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Had to sell it, didn’t I?  It’s method acting.”  Jacob and Dean looked at each other, made confused faces, and climbed into the Impala.</p>
<p>“What did you find out from Gunderson?”</p>
<p>“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop.  Head of his class, even keeled, had a bright future ahead of him.” Sam twisted to face them both.</p>
<p>“What about at home?”</p>
<p>“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody.  But it was mostly smooth sailing.  They were even talking about having kids.” Jacob leaned back in his seat.</p>
<p>“So either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did this to him.” Dean tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel.</p>
<p>“What did Gunderson say about the asylum?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say anything,” Jacob blurted out.  The brothers blinked at him.  He flushed.  “Oh, you meant the cop.  Sorry.” Sam turned back to Dean.</p>
<p>“A lot,” Sam sighed.  He didn’t elaborate.  Jacob curled further into his seat and closed his eyes.  Two words, ringing with resignation and determination.  Okay, so they were taking on the case.  But what were they hunting?  Jacob tried not to let the thoughts drag him too far from sleep but just as he was starting to doze off, Dean reached back and shook him.</p>
<p>“You gonna sleep in the car when we got beds?” Jacob uncurled from his warm ball, groped for his worn duffel bag, and trailed Dean like a puppy into a motel room.  Sam had already claimed the bed closest to the bathroom and was stretched out across it diagonally, paging through John’s journal.  Dean tossed his bag onto the other bed and Jacob turned for the couch.  He’d barely sat down before someone was throwing pillows at him.  He caught the first but missed the second.  It hit him square in the face, enveloping him in the scent of cheap detergent and the feeling of over-washed cotton.  He scowled at the brothers, both of whom were smirking.  Dean’s bed was missing two pillows.  He sighed.</p>
<p>“Anything else you wanna throw at me?” Sam leaned over the side of the bed, did something out of his line of sight, and lobbed a large object at him.  He caught this one.  It was one of the blankets from the trunk.  One of the newer, nicer ones, too.  He rolled his eyes.  “Thanks, mom and dad.” He curled up on the couch, pressing his back firmly into the solid back of the couch.  He yawned.</p>
<p>“We’ll scout the place in the morning,” Dean said, tugging off his boots.  Sam grunted.  Jacob let his eyes close.  He drifted off to the rustle of John’s journal, the squeak of cheap beds, and eventually, rhythmic breathing in a dark room.  He didn’t dream.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dawn found the three of them scaling a fifteen-foot chain link fence.  As Jacob jumped down to land next to Sam, he found himself wondering when his life had gotten so weird.  Dean glanced over his shoulders, then climbed the fence with ease, nearly cart-wheeling down the other side.  The three of them trotted up the stairs.  Jacob glanced back at the plaque still legible on the building.  ‘Roosevelt Asylum, est. 1875.’  It sat over a door heavily plastered with signs that read things like ‘Keep Out!’ and ‘No Trespassing!’ and ‘Condemned Building, no entry allowed.’  So of course, like good hunters, they ignored all the warnings and walked into a notoriously haunted building where multiple people had died.  Of course.</p>
<p>Jacob’s first impression of the asylum was ‘derelict.’ Despite the mystery shrouding it, clearly people had been here.  Sure, there were old artifacts everywhere.  Bottles and tools and furniture and fabric.  But there was also incredible amounts of graffiti, both ugly and beautiful.  There was trash.  And there was filth.  It looked like a stereotypical haunted house, what with piles of dusty old medical equipment everywhere, eerie silence, and an oddly dark interior, despite the fact that it was a sunny morning.  Dean closed the door behind them.</p>
<p>“So apparently the cops chased the kids here,” Sam said quietly, “into the south wing.” Jacob glanced at the door to their right.  The sign over the door was fading and chipped, red on white paint proclaiming the door to lead to the South Wing of the asylum.  Dean made a noise of realization and reached into his jacket to grab John’s journal.  Jacob approached the doors.</p>
<p>“1972 - three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived,” Dean read out.  Jacob knelt at the foot of the doors.  “The way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.” Jacob glanced over his shoulder to see the brothers looking at each other.</p>
<p>“So whatever’s going on, the south wing seems like the heart of it.”</p>
<p>“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren’t there a ton more deaths?” Jacob touched the chains piled in front of the door.</p>
<p>“Probably because of this,” Jacob said, lifting the destroyed padlock up.  “Looks like the doors are supposed to be chained shut.  Depending on how long they’d been chained up…” he let the statement trail off as he turned to look at the brothers.</p>
<p>“Keep someone out,” Sam murmured, coming to his side.</p>
<p>“Or to keep something in,” Dean said with damning finality.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There was nothing in the south wing.  Nothing compelling.  Jacob spent the entire time they poked around there in a heightened state of tension.  His pendant had thumped once when they entered this room then fell still.  He didn’t like it.  Sam and Dean had their usual argument about John, John’s whereabouts, and their loyalty to the man.  There was bickering.  Dean found a sign that apparently meant something.  Jacob was too distracted by the medical tools scattered around the room and the thought of his pendant to really pay attention.  Only when Sam grabbed him by the collar of his jacket did he register that they were leaving.</p>
<p>“What’s up with you?” Sam nearly hissed at him, nearly dragging him down the hallway.  Jacob shook himself and fell into step with Sam.  Dean was several yards ahead of them, head held high and eyes scanning the surroundings.  With the older hunter on lookout, Jacob felt fine about letting himself relax a little.  His pendant was still.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he mumbled.  Sam didn’t look convinced but Jacob knew that where Dean would hold him against a wall until he caved, Sam would leave him alone the first time, pester him the second, and sit on him the third.  “You and Dean really have very different opinions of John,” he deflected.  Sam rolled his eyes and kept walking.</p>
<p>“We’re not talking about this again,” Sam told him.  “Now let’s go.” Jacob trailed him out.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jacob looked up as the driver’s side door of the Impala swung open.  He had a book in his lap, one he’d had to sing a very sweet tune to rent from the library without a card.  <em> Roosevelt Asylum, Foundation to Abandonment </em>, the title read, and Jacob knew at this point that the book was almost useless.  The book was a historical dissection of the Roosevelt Asylum.  But not in the way they needed.  It talked about sourcing building materials, the architects and construction crews.  It talked more about the medical advancements in the asylum than about the people themselves.  There was no mention of doctors, besides a passing mention of Sanford Ellicott, the chief of staff in the early 1960s.  He threw the book down and looked at the brothers.  With Sam already talking to the chief of staff’s son, there was no point to the book.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“So the south wing is where they kept the hard cases.  Criminally insane, psychotic, and get this, one night in ‘64, they rioted.  Attacked the staff, attacked each other,” Sam informed them.  Jacob leaned forward and folded his arms over the backrest.</p>
<p>“So what, the patients just took over the asylum?  Any deaths?” Dean had his game face on.  Sam nodded.</p>
<p>“Some patients, some staff.  I guess it was pretty gory.  Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.” Jacob raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Wait, what do you mean ‘never recovered?’  You have to be able to find bodies after something like that happened, don't you?  Bodies don’t just vanish.” Sam shook his head.</p>
<p>“Cops scoured every inch of the place.  I guess the patients must have…” Sam made an oddly helpless gesture, “stuffed the bodies somewhere.” Jacob rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat.  Dean shifted in his seat and Jacob knew his expression must be something like the one on his own.</p>
<p>“That’s grim.”</p>
<p>“So they transferred all the surviving patients and shut the hospital down for good.”  There was a long silence in the Impala before Dean shifted again.</p>
<p>“So to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and unrecovered bodies.”</p>
<p>“Which could mean a bunch of angry spirits,” Jacob supplied, fiddling with the book he’d have to figure out how to return.  Maybe he could convince Dean to stop at the library again.</p>
<p>“Good times,” Dean said, his mood lightening.  “Let’s check out the hospital tonight.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jacob convinced Dean to stop at the library without too much whining.  The payback for ‘wasting’ so much time?  Jacob had to buy dinner.  Of course, that meant Sam wanted to go somewhere other than a bar, which sparked an argument between the brothers.  Jacob just hoped he had enough cash tucked away to pay for wherever they were going.  Finally, his stomach growling loud enough to make him wonder if there was actually a small carnivorous animal trapped inside his ribcage, Jacob spoke up.</p>
<p>“If it changes anything,” he told the brothers, who quieted momentarily, “I’m only buying one round of food.  Anything after that is all on you guys.  Can we just eat soon?  God knows we haven’t eaten since like, five this morning.” Based on the victorious noises coming from up front, Dean had won the argument.  Which meant they were either going to a diner or a bar.</p>
<p>The Impala started up with a low roar and rumble, and soon they were pulling out of the little library parking lot down a quiet street.  How Dean knew where he was going in all these tiny towns, Jacob would never know.  But the man drove them to a little diner without any wrong turns, U-turns, or hesitations.  Jacob climbed out.  It looked like a standard small-town diner, probably a mom-and-pop place that had been here for years.  “Just for this I’m buying myself a goddamn milkshake,” he sighed, making sure he’d remembered to grab cash before getting out.  Sam got out next to him, smiling.</p>
<p>“You could have just told him to fuck off.” Jacob shrugged.</p>
<p>“Not really interested in pushing my limits with you guys, you know?” He swallowed a curse.  He hadn’t meant to say that, not right now and especially not to Sam.  Sure enough, when he looked up, the tall hunter was giving him veritable puppy-dog eyes.  Dean clapped them both on the shoulder and pushed through them toward the diner.</p>
<p>“Come on, drama queens,” he said almost affectionately.  “Have your chick flick moment inside where I can drown it out in a burger and endless fries.” So that was why Dean wanted to come here.  Sam and Jacob shared a long look and followed the over-excited man into the diner.  It was done in, unsurprisingly, red and beige, with tile flooring and typical farm-town wall decorations.  They ordered quickly, two burgers and fries, one chicken sandwich with a side salad, a chocolate milkshake, and two coffees.</p>
<p>“So what did you mean you didn’t want to push limits, Jake?” Sam wanted answers.  Jacob really didn’t want to give them.  He waited until the waitress had set their drinks down, took a long, laborious sip of his milkshake, and groaned.  This was exactly what he needed.  Sam eyed him over his cup of coffee.  He sighed.  Dean was eyeing him now too.  His pendant warmed the longer he stayed silent and finally he gave in.  The identical stares weren’t helping.</p>
<p>“Look.  You guys hold my leash.  Just because you haven’t decided to set off my collar yet doesn’t mean you won’t.” He tried to leave it at that and sucked on his straw until he’d gotten a mouthful of divinity.  It took longer than he wanted.</p>
<p>“Seems like a shit way to go through life,” Dean grunted.  Jacob glanced up and shrugged.  “Seriously?  You’re walking on eggshells cos you think we’re gonna set it off if you talk back?  What the hell, man?  Give us some credit.” Jacob shrugged again.</p>
<p>“You think Dean’s gonna get mad cos you refuse to pay for dinner?” Sam’s mouth curled into an incredulous grin.  “Jake, I’ve actually told him to fuck off and never talk to me again.  You know what he did?” Sam leaned forward.  Jacob raised his head to meet Sam’s pale eyes.  “He laughed, punched me in the shoulder, and told me I was stuck with him.” Dean snorted.</p>
<p>“You ain’t getting away from me that easy, Sammy.” Jealousy flared in Jacob’s chest, hot and sour and rancid.  He swallowed hard and pushed out of the booth.</p>
<p>“I’m going to the bathroom,” he mumbled.  He didn’t want to watch what he couldn’t have anymore.  He didn’t want to watch the two of them go through what was clearly a practiced rhythm, getting bogged down because he’d been thrown into the mix.  He wasn’t useful for anything, not really.  All he could do was research.  No one would let him handle a gun, knives were hardly useful against poltergeists, so what was left?  Salting and burning.  Exorcisms they hadn’t had to use.  There was no reason for him to be with the brothers.  He banged his way into the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and sat on the toilet with his head in his hands.  He couldn’t even earn money to earn his keep with them, because he had to stay within a mile.  He swallowed another rise of jealousy.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter that he was a runner or that he was damn good at hand-to-hand combat.  Didn’t matter that he could rattle off exorcisms in his sleep, and that his default reaction to being startled was to punch whatever had touched him.  He was still the unwanted son of a bitch that slept on couches instead of beds, got to play bait for hunts because that's how valuable he was, couldn’t refuse orders or carry grudges.  He had to be a bobblehead.  ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and ‘whatever you desire, sir.’  He scoffed to himself.  He sat on the toilet for another minute, letting emotions bubble through him.  Then with one, two long breaths, he clamped down on them, washed his hands, and left the bathroom.</p>
<p>Food had arrived while he’d been gone.  Both brothers were picking at their fries, hadn’t even touched their sandwiches yet.  Which, for Dean, that was like taping a sign to his forehead that screamed ‘it’s mother-hen time, bitches!’  Jacob slid back into his seat and chewed on a fry listlessly.  It was really good, he had to admit that.  Hot and crisp and salty.  But his appetite was gone.  Dean squinted at him.</p>
<p>“You better eat that,” the older hunter told him, “otherwise I ain’t letting you in that asylum tonight.” Jacob snorted.  Sam turned to Dean, who shrugged.  “I don’t wanna haul his ass out of there if he passes out.  Safety hazard.” The corners of Jacob’s lips curled in true amusement.  Okay, so Dean would never, never be the touchy-feely type.  This was as close as Dean would probably ever get to saying ‘I’m worried about you.’  Sam, on the other hand...Jacob stuffed a few more fries in his mouth and washed them down with a long pull on his softening milkshake.</p>
<p>“Jake,” Sam tried, his voice soft.  Jacob fixed his gaze on his food, scooping up the massive burger and taking a bite.  It was really good - hot and greasy and juicy, everything his stomach had been clamoring for since this morning.  Next to Sam, Dean was equally silent, but Jacob knew he was watching the two of them, his green eyes darting between them like he wasn’t sure whether to butt in or leave them to it.  “Jake,” Sam tried again, leaning forward a little.  Jacob took another bite, this one larger than the first.  He didn’t want to talk about this.  Not here, not with them, not hours before they were going into an actively haunted asylum.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jacob saw Dean nudge his brother and pick up his own burger.  Jacob swallowed his bite and set his burger down.</p>
<p>Sam hooked a finger in the basket and proceeded to pull it across the table.  Jacob reached for it.  Sam’s eyes met his and they were firm, his entire face set in a mask of determination.  Jacob’s hand fell to his lap and his stomach twisted hard.</p>
<p>“I paid for that,” he said a little weakly.</p>
<p>“I’ll give it back,” Sam told him.  “Just after you actually talk.” Jacob’s stomach twisted harder.</p>
<p>“Talk about what?”</p>
<p>“You’re acting weirder than usual,” Dean offered, eating a few of Jacob’s fries and looking entirely too relaxed, despite the fact that this was a bona-fide chick flick moment.  “Spill, kid.” Sam nodded.  Frustration rippled through Jacob then, still as hot and sour as the jealousy had been earlier.  Maybe this was jealousy, too.  He wasn’t sure anymore.  All he knew was that his pendant was warming again and his patience was rapidly eroding.</p>
<p>“You want me to talk?  Fine.” This felt like a replica of what had happened with John.  Maybe they’d pass him on after this, too.  “I’m fucking useless.  I don’t get to handle guns.  Knives don’t do shit against ghosts.  All I can do is research, and that’s when you guys are in a place where I can, because hey, look at me, I have to stay within a goddamned mile of whoever holds my fucking leash.” He tried to keep his voice down but it was getting difficult.  Dean had stopped eating now.  Jacob couldn’t stop.  “I’m just a goddamn piece of luggage, is that it?  I’m just a curse that gets passed around because no one wants to think about the human behind the object.  So you guys get saddled with me because you’re too bleeding-heart to send me packing.  I get to play bait and do your legwork and eat your food and watch you be what I used to have and can’t have anymore.” Whoops, those last words were a mistake.  “And now I’m having a goddamn meltdown five hours before we go into that asylum because someone doesn’t know when to leave people the fuck alone.” He took a long, deep breath, avoided both sets of eyes, and reached into his back pocket.  He threw money onto the table and slid out of the booth.</p>
<p>“I’ll be in the car.” The brothers let him go.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jacob leaned against the hood of the Impala, arms crossed over his chest.  He’d said way too much in there, most of it things he hadn’t wanted to say.  But now he had, and it was just going to make everything awkward.  He tipped his head up to the cloudy night sky, closed his eyes, and exhaled.  His moment of quiet was shattered when someone set an arm on his shoulder.  He ducked away from it, hands raising to guard his face instinctively as he looked for the threat.  Dean smirked at him, hands raised.  The silver ring on his right hand gleamed in the dim light of the lone overhead light.  Sam was nowhere to be seen.</p>
<p>“Twitchy, huh?” Jacob lowered his hands.</p>
<p>“No way you guys ate that fast.” It had only been a few minutes.  Dean waggled a paper takeout bag and held up a plastic cup with a lid.</p>
<p>“Told you, you don’t eat, you ain’t coming with.  And it sure sounds like you wanna come with.” Jacob stared at him.  Dean’s smirk widened.  “Eat, kid.” Jacob took the bag a little numbly.  He’d expected to get yelled at, at least a little.  But here was the gruffer of the two brothers, bringing him food and basically telling him he was useful enough to come with.  So Jacob ate, spreading the bagged-up food across the hood of the Impala.  The fries had gone cold but he ate them anyway.  “By the way,” Dean said, taking a long sip of what Jacob assumed was coffee, “and I’m only gonna say this once because chick-flicks make me itch.  You aren’t useless, you aren’t a suitcase, and yeah, you’re pretty damn helpful.” Jacob looked up to see Dean’s face.  He was watching Jacob with an odd intensity.  “And yeah, I get you left family behind when this whole thing went to shit.  But guess what, kid?” Dean leaned a little closer and slugged him in the shoulder.  “You ain’t getting away from us that easy, Jake.” His voice was warm with affection.  If Jacob’s eyes watered a little, Dean was manly enough not to mention it.</p>
<p>Sam appeared a minute later, two bags in his hands.  He tossed one to Dean and kept one.  Jacob swallowed his mouthful of fries and eyed Sam.  Was he going to steal this food, too?  All he got for his wariness was one of Sam’s hands in his hair, ruffling it as the taller hunter grinned.</p>
<p>“Told you I’d give it back, Jake.” Jacob gave him a dirty look.</p>
<p>“Technically Dean did.” Sam rolled his eyes and tore his bag wide open, laying it out between the three of them.  It was almost full of fries after Sam scooped out his half-eaten sandwich.</p>
<p>“Waitress had a soft spot for you,” Sam said conversationally, “so these were on the house.” Jacob really wasn’t sure to do anymore.  Nothing was going the way everything pre-John had conditioned him to believe it would.  Even the past few months with the brothers had been an awkward sort of dance, where Jacob just tried to stay out of the brothers’ way and be as helpful as he could.  That was how it had always worked with John.  But now?  It felt like the world was starting to tip on its side.</p>
<p>Dean set his melting milkshake in front of him.  “Paid for it, didn’t you?” Dean was smirking again as he chewed on a few more fries.</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Jacob grumbled, cradling his precious divinity.</p>
<p>“Yeah, no can do,” Sam said, ruffling his hair again.</p>
<p>“You’re stuck with us,” Dean reiterated.  “Now come on, I wanna catch a few Z’s before this hunt.” They ate in silence.  Only after everything had been eaten or thrown away did they pile back into the Impala.  Dean drove them back to the motel, again without getting lost once.  Jacob toed off his boots and collapsed onto the couch,  sighing.  It wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever slept on, but it was nice to be able to stretch out a little more.  He registered Dean moving to flop face-down on his own bed while Sam settled at the small desk at the foot of Jacob’s couch.  Sam cracked open his laptop.</p>
<p>“Midnight,” Dean mumbled.  Sam snorted but didn’t say anything.  Jacob grunted acknowledgement and made himself comfortable on the couch.  Maybe this would be an easy hunt.  He scoffed at his own joke, wrapped one hand around the knife tucked between the couch cushions, and let himself doze.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Go Ahead, Pull the Trigger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Season 1 Episode 10: Asylum.</p>
<p>The trio meets Kat and Gavin.  Jacob encounters the good doctor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>April 2006 - Rockford Illinois, Roosevelt Asylum</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, as Jacob locked eyes with a short, blood-covered woman, he wasn’t so sure about the ‘easy’ part.  She wasn’t doing anything malicious, just...reaching for him.  The left side of her forehead was just a big, open wound.  Her right eye was wide and pleading.  His pendant thudded against his chest, soft and rhythmic but to his confusion, it stayed stone cold.  Every other time it had done this, it had at least warmed a little.  “Dean,” he said calmly, “Sam?” Dean was busy scanning the EMF detector, which had been giving them crazy high readings since they’d walked into the south wing.  Sam didn’t seem to have heard him.  The woman stepped forward.  Jacob took a slow step backward.  “Dean, Sam?  Guys?” Finally Dean turned and Jacob heard the <em> cha-chunk </em> that was a shotgun cocking.</p>
<p>“Get down,” Dean barked.  Jacob hit the deck with reflexes honed by too many hunts with their trigger-happy father.  A boom, and salt peppered his face.  Sam reached down and tugged him to his feet.</p>
<p>“So that was weird,” The younger hunter said shakily.  Jacob nodded.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t she attack me?” Dean led them out of the room and down into another dark hallway.  This one looked the same as the one they’d just been in.  Same cracked, stained flooring.  Same stained, peeling walls.  Jacob swallowed.  “Why didn’t she hurt me?  She didn’t even try.”  Dean had put the EMF detector away and was now cradling his trusty sawed-off.  Jacob traded a confused look with Sam.</p>
<p>Sam’s head snapped over at the sound of a clank.  Dean froze and leaned back to look through an open doorway.  Jacob flicked on his flashlight and shone it into the room beyond.  There was an overturned bedframe, the metal webbing rusted and probably full of tetanus, wedged up between a pair of cabinets.  Jacob wondered if that was from the riots, or whether kids had moved stuff.  Dean brought his shotgun up and Sam turned on his own flashlight.  As they drew closer, nerves coiled tighter and tighter in Jacob’s stomach.  There were soft noises coming from behind the bedframe, but they didn’t sound any more ghostly than the rustle of the brothers’ clothing.  An idea clicked in Jacob’s head and before he could stop himself, he’d gestured for the brothers to stop.  They froze.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Jacob said, low and soothing into the heavy silence.  Whatever it was behind the bedframe went very still.  “Hey.  Are you okay?” that got a muffled sob in answer.  “We’re not gonna hurt you.” Jacob peered over the edge of the bedframe, shining his light down on the figure.  It was a girl.  He sighed.  “What’s your name, kid?” Sam and Dean hung back.  Jacob gestured for her to get up.  She did.</p>
<p>“Uh, Katherine,” she said, wiping at her eyes with one sleeve.  “Kat.”</p>
<p>“Kat, I’m Jacob.  The taller one is Sam, the shorter one is Dean.”</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” Sam sounded incredulous.  Jacob really hoped Dean had lowered his shotgun by now.  Kat wiped at her eyes again.</p>
<p>“My...my boyfriend,” she sniffled, “Gavin.” Dean cut her off.</p>
<p>“Is he here?” There was a muffled grunt.  Jacob rolled his eyes.  Sam had probably elbowed him.</p>
<p>“Somewhere,” Kat said.  “He thought it would be fun, try to see some ghosts.  I thought it was all just...you know, pretend.” Jacob made a quiet, understanding noise.  He scoffed internally.  Pretend, great.  She needed to get out before they saw another ghost.  “I’ve seen things.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.  “I heard Gavin scream and-” Dean took over then.</p>
<p>“Alright Kat, come on.  Sam’s gonna get you out of here, and then we’re gonna find your boyfriend, alright?” The look Sam gave Dean was confused and indignant all at once.  Jacob shrugged.  Better Sam than him.</p>
<p>“No, no.” Kat pulled away from the three of them.  “I’m not going anywhere without Gavin.” Jacob slipped back out into the hallway and scanned down the long, dark halls.  Nothing.  “I’m coming with you.” He could hear the brothers arguing with Kat and as they emerged from the little room, the brothers both looked displeased.</p>
<p>“Jake, stay with Sam.” Jacob’s pendant crackled as he nodded.  Dean really didn’t look happy with this situation.  Jacob wasn’t either, but short of dragging the girl to the exit, there was nothing they could do.  “Kat, you’re with me.  Let’s go.”  Sam cocked his shotgun.  Kat gave him a wide-eyed look and Jacob scoffed quietly.  Dean smacked him across the back of the head.</p>
<p>“Jake, let’s go.” Sam jerked his head and they started down a hallway they hadn’t explored yet.  The thin beam of light cast by the flashlight didn’t illuminate enough, in Jacob’s opinion, but he did his best to keep an eye out for anything unusual.  Sometimes he wished the brothers would just let him go without a flashlight, but Dean had hard-vetoed that right after they’d met.  So here he was, flicking a flashlight from nook to cranny to corner, straining to hear down long, abandoned hallways for any sign of life or after-death.</p>
<p>Jacob was just starting to lose his sense of direction when they found Gavin.  Sam nearly crumpled next to a body on the floor, his shotgun clattering to the floor next to him.  Jacob sighed and covered him almost idly.  The body jerked upright with a gasp.  Jacob jumped.  Sam threw him a white-gleaming grin over his shoulder and Jacob rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay.  We’re here to help.”</p>
<p>“Who are you guys?” Gavin looked young, though Jacob knew he was really only a few years older than the kid.  Jacob felt older.  Anyone would, Jacob supposed, if they’d fallen into a world where you walked into haunted asylums with a purpose.  He looked at Gavin for a moment.  Shaggy dark hair, a warm coat, worn jeans and sneakers.  At least he’d dressed warmly for this hare-brained adventure.</p>
<p>“My name is Sam.  That’s Jacob.” Sam offered Gavin a hand and hoisted him to his feet.  “We found your girlfriend.” Gavin’s eyes went wide.</p>
<p>“Kat?  Is she alright?”</p>
<p>“She’s worried about you,” Jacob offered from his position by the door.  So far his pendant was cool and quiet, the building just as empty as it had been three minutes ago.</p>
<p>“You okay, though?” Gavin winced and reached up to his forehead.</p>
<p>“I was running.  I, uh, I think I fell.” With the amount of trash littering the floor, Jacob wasn’t surprised.  Hell, Sam had nearly eaten it once, tripping over the leg of a cot neither of them had seen.  And that was with flashlights and experience.</p>
<p>“What were you running from?” Sam’s words hung heavy for a moment while he bent to pick up his shotgun.  Gavin swallowed.</p>
<p>“There...there was this girl.  Her face, it was all messed up.” Jacob shifted.  Okay, this was all very good, but could they just get Gavin out already?  They didn’t need more civilians here.  Jacob ignored the fact that he’d just graduated from ‘civilian’ status a few years ago.  You learned quick with Hunters.  You learned quick or you died.  Besides, a ghost with a messed up face?  That certainly sounded familiar.  Jacob tried to focus on the thought of the ghost (was it the same one who had approached him?) instead of dwelling on the fact that they’d now have to watch out for a second civilian.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Sam said, his voice pitching soft and low, “this girl.  Did she try to hurt you?” Gavin looked like he wanted to swallow his own tongue.</p>
<p>“Uh no, no,” he stammered.  “She…”</p>
<p>“She what?” Jacob clipped out, grimacing as Sam turned and shot him a pointed look.  Jacob shrugged apologetically.  Gavin looked between them.</p>
<p>“She kissed me.” Jacob coughed.  Spirits, kissing the living?  Sam visibly tried to pull himself together.  Jacob really didn’t envy him the task of having this conversation.  They’d come to hunt ghosts, not handle...emotional teenage drama.</p>
<p>“Okay, but, um...she didn’t hurt you physically?” Gavin’s eyes widened even more.</p>
<p>“Dude, she kissed me!  I’m scarred for life!” Jacob flicked the beam from his flashlight over Gavin’s chest and head.  His pendant, he noted, was still cool.  They had a little more time.</p>
<p>“Trust me,” he said, “it could have been much worse.”  In the thin beam of light, it was easy to think Sam’s eyes could be black from edge to edge, to see his face twist in a dark, sinister grin.  Jacob shook his head to clear his vision and when everything steadied, Sam was watching him out of the corner of his eye even as he turned back to Gavin.</p>
<p>“Do you remember anything else?” Gavin shook his head, then froze.</p>
<p>“She, uh, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.  I ran like hell.” Jacob glanced down the hallway again, nerves starting to swell in his belly.  They’d been standing here too long, talking and breathing and generally being the only living things in the building.  Spirits would start to hone in on them soon, if they hadn’t already.  He turned to scan the other end of the hallway when he heard a distant scream, echoing down the hallway to his right.  He leaned back into the room.  Sam’s head snapped around.</p>
<p>“We gotta go,” Jacob said.  Sam nodded, jerked his head at Gavin, and the three of them took off at a run down the hallway.  Jacob led the little pack, dodging dolls and jars and bedsheets with ease, even as his flashlight flickered and died and his pendant began to thump a steady rhythm on his chest.  He could hear Sam’s panting behind him, and even further back, the ragged breathing of Gavin as he tried to keep up with their longer legs.  The scream came again, louder and definitely female.  Sam overtook him as they rounded the final corner to see Dean, crowbar in hand, prying at a door.</p>
<p>“What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“She’s inside with one of them!” Dean slammed the crowbar into the seam between door and doorframe again.  Jacob came to stand on the other side of Dean.  His pendant was starting to thump.  Okay, so the spirit was close.  But it was cold.  He looked at Sam.</p>
<p>“Help me!” The scream was high and frantic.</p>
<p>“Sam.” The hunter didn’t look over.  “Sam!” Jacob held his gaze and tucked a finger under the chain of his collar pointedly.  “It won’t hurt her.” Sam and Dean were both looking at him now.  Sam swallowed hard and nodded.  </p>
<p>“Get me out of here!” Gavin stepped up to the door now.</p>
<p>“Kat?”</p>
<p>“Kat,” Sam shouted.  Gavin fell quiet.  “Kat, it’s not gonna hurt you!  You have to face it!” Gavin turned to him.</p>
<p>“She has to what?” Dean made a sharp gesture at the boy.  Jacob spoke up then.</p>
<p>“The spirits aren’t trying to hurt us, they’re trying to communicate, Kat.  You have to listen to it.  Face it.” He snorted at the petulant reply of ‘you face it.’  He had no doubt that the ghost was almost on top of her right now, probably ugly and bloody and gross.  “If I could, I would.  But that’s the only way for you to get out of there.” Kat whined.</p>
<p>“Kat, just look at it,” Sam said, his voice wavering toward desperate.  “That’s all.  You can do it.” They waited, and the silence was almost worse than the screams.  Jacob fixed his stare on the door, running one hand along the chain of his collar.  It was still thumping.  Even when he wrapped a hand around the physical pendant, the sensation of being poked in the chest was still there.  Dean spoke up after a moment, his voice harsh.</p>
<p>“I hope you guys are right about this.” Sam and Jacob exchanged a long look.</p>
<p>“Yeah.  Me too.” Sam turned back to the door, just in time for the lock to clunk open and the door itself to creak open.  Kat stood there, her face a blank mask of shock.  Jacob nearly threw her into Gavin’s arms and quick-stepped into the room.  His pendant went quiet.  He flicked his flashlight around the room, careful not to blind Sam, who was doing the same thing he was.</p>
<p>“137,” Kat told Dean as Jacob and Sam emerged.  Dean turned to her.</p>
<p>“Sorry?”</p>
<p>“It whispered in my ear, ‘137.’” Gavin and Kat were both staring at them like they would know what that meant.  Jacob floundered, swallowing and staring into the room they’d just searched.  Was that a victim count?  A cell number?  It clicked.</p>
<p>“Room number.” Sam and Dean spoke at the same time as him and it created an odd echo around them.  Dean dove for his bag to pack up everything he’d spilled out in his search for the crowbar.  Sam crouched next to him.  Jacob stood guard over the two of them, eyes darting from the couple awkwardly reuniting to the brothers debating the spirits’ intentions.  The brothers stood.</p>
<p>“You guys ready to leave this place now?” Jacob tried for light-hearted but it fell flat as soon as it left his mouth.  Kat and Gavin gave him wide, terrified stares.</p>
<p>“That’s an understatement,” Kat said.  Jacob nodded sharply.  It was about time they got scared.  They shouldn’t have been here this long.</p>
<p>“Alright.  You get ‘em out of here.” Jacob’s head whipped around.  Dean was staring at him.  Sam was, too.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“You heard me.  Get them out of here.  We’re gonna go find room 137.  We won’t be long.” With his pendant crackling under his shirt, Jacob could do nothing but nod.  Sam tossed him one of the two sawed-offs and his cell phone with a mumbled, “call Dean if anything happens,” and then they were gone.  Jacob swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat like so much bile, turned to the couple, and smiled tightly.  </p>
<p>“Okay, let’s go.” He led them back the way they came.  They walked in silence for a long minute before Kat ventured, “so how do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?” Jacob shrugged and squeezed past a gurney.</p>
<p>“It’s kind of our job.”</p>
<p>“Why would anyone want a job like that?” Jacob scoffed.</p>
<p>“I got creative.  School wasn’t my thing.” Kat drew level with him.</p>
<p>“And those two, they’re, what, your bosses?”</p>
<p>“Heh, no.  They just look out for me.” Maybe.  Did they think he was their subordinate?  Dean had said he was useful earlier, but now, as he was leading the pair out of the haunted asylum, maybe that hadn’t been true.  Jacob shelved that thought for later.  Read: never.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The doors were jammed.  Jacob pounded on one while the pair tried the other.  This was an emergency exit, it shouldn’t be blocked.  Even the door Gavin was trying to shoulder-check open shouldn’t be locked, it should have led to the main entrance where they’d all started.  This didn’t make sense.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jacob sighed, “this might be a problem.”</p>
<p>“We can,” Gavin grunted, “just break it down.” he stepped back and panted, “can’t we?” Kat made a soft noise of incredulity.</p>
<p>“It clearly isn’t working, Gavin.”</p>
<p>“Okay, so we break a window.”</p>
<p>“They’re barred.”</p>
<p>“So how are we supposed to get out?” A thought was teasing at Jacob and he really didn’t like it.  But under the stares of two scared teenagers, he felt like he had to say something.</p>
<p>“That’s the point,” he said slowly, heavily.  “We’re not.  There’s something in here, and it doesn’t want us to leave.” Gavin couldn’t look any more scared if he’d tried, Jacob noted as he debated their options.  He couldn’t blame the kid.  Wandering into a ‘haunted asylum’ for kicks was one thing.  Being kissed by a ghost then told he couldn’t leave was another.  He would be a little messed up for a while.  Kat, however, looked like she was keeping it together.  She was even starting to connect dots.</p>
<p>“Those patients.” Okay, maybe not the correct dots.</p>
<p>“No, those didn’t want to hurt us.  Something else.” He nodded to himself.  “You two stay here.  I’m going to go look for other ways out.” They nodded and curled into each other like lost puppies.  Jacob tried not to think too hard on that as he jogged down corridors, glancing out of barred windows and testing doors.  Nothing gave.  He gave up after a few minutes and turned back the way he’d come.  He sighed when he found them exactly where he’d left them, still curled into each other and scared.</p>
<p>“Any luck?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“So what the hell are we gonna do?” Gavin’s voice was high and thin.</p>
<p>“For starters,” Jacob snipped, “we’re not going to panic.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell not?” Gavin was starting to crack.  Even Kat’s hand on his arm didn’t seem to help.  Luckily Jacob was saved having to find a response by Sam’s phone ringing in his pocket.  He flicked it open.  It was Dean.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>“<em> Jake,” </em> Dean greeted him, voice rough and crackling, “ <em> it’s me.  I see it.  It’s coming at us.” </em></p>
<p>“Where are you?” How far had they gotten in the time it took him to look for a way out?  How quickly could he get there?</p>
<p>“<em> We’re in the basement, hurry up.” </em></p>
<p>“I’m on my way.” He closed the phone and looked at the two teenagers.  “Can either of you handle a shotgun?” Gavin wheezed.</p>
<p>“W-what?  No!” he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from clawing his way out through the concrete walls, tools or no.  Kat, however, still looked like she had her wits about her.</p>
<p>“I can,” she said evenly.  Gavin stared at her.  “My dad took me skeet shooting a couple times,” she shrugged her boyfriend.  Jacob nodded and handed her the gun.</p>
<p>“Okay, here.” He handed her the gun.  “It’s loaded with rock salt cartridges.  Might not kill a spirit, but it will repel it.  If you see something, shoot.  Ask questions later.” Winchester family motto, right there.  Born out of blood, fire, and necessity.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Kat nodded, gripping the gun tightly.  Jacob turned away and was rewarded, as he started to jog down the hallway toward the basement, with the heavy <em> cha-chunk </em> of a cocking shotgun.  They’d be fine.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He made it to the basement without incident.  But as he searched through the rooms, there was no one.  No sound, nothing.  He tried to keep his flashlight up, keep it moving, but neither Dean nor Sam was nearby.  He slipped into the boiler room, wondering if maybe they’d found something there.  No luck.  He left the boiler room and made his way into other, larger rooms.  He worked his way through them as quickly as he dared, pausing when he hit a dead end.  There was a door to his left, a rusted metal door with a sign declaring ‘biological hazard’ in big red letters.  If they hadn’t been in any other part of the basement, maybe they were here.  Jacob swallowed his nerves and opened the door.</p>
<p>“Dean?  Sam?”  He stepped inside.  There was no one in here, either.  He glanced from one tall set of shelving to another.  Nothing.  His pendant thumped once, twice against his chest.  He swore.  His flashlight, a trusty old model of John’s with fresh batteries, flickered and died.  He swallowed.  This wasn’t good.  He drew his boot knife, a hand-forged iron knife he’d had ever since his father had taken him to a Renaissance festival when he was a freshman.  It wasn’t big, maybe a four inch blade, but it was better than nothing.  Forged out of a railroad spike, the blacksmith had told him.  Solid iron.</p>
<p>A door to his left creaked open.  He stepped inside carefully, cautiously.  It looked like a very old, very decayed hospital room.  It was separated into three distinct sections with curtains.  Two beds on each side of the room, divided by a tall metal chair that honestly, gave him the chills.  There was a desk and chair in the corner immediately to his left, and a cabinet to his immediate right.  Tile floors with a drain by the metal chair told him he had reason to have the chills.  This entire room felt dark.  His collar warmed and began to thump harder.</p>
<p>“Dean?  Sam?” Nothing.  A shadow moved to his left and he flinched.  He turned to check out the desk and beyond that, what he assumed was some kind of bathroom.  There was medical tools scattered everywhere.  A scale, IV stands, stained gurneys.  Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust and grime.  His collar seared white-hot against his skin and he spun, right into the face of a ghostly man.  Hands closed over his face and electricity hummed through his skull.  He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.  Was he screaming?</p>
<p>“Don’t be afraid,” the ghost murmured, squeezing a little tighter, “I’m going to make things all better.” Jacob groaned and jerked against the blinding, breathtaking pain.  This was as bad as Skinner’s punishments.  It felt like it went on forever.  By the time it stopped, Jacob wasn’t sure what time it was anymore.  He blinked.  Why was he on the floor?  He pushed himself upright and looked around.  Okay, how had he gotten back in the biohazard room?  His collar was quiet but the skin under it hurt.  Like he’d been burned.  What had happened?  He stepped out of the room just in time to see Sam and Dean both round the corner.  Dean had a shotgun leveled at him.  Their mouths were moving and just as Sam came to stand in front of him, the world acquired sound.</p>
<p>“Jake!” Sam looked him up and down.</p>
<p>“Answer when we’re shouting for you, dammit!” Dean looked pissed.  Jacob handed Sam his phone back.</p>
<p>“You okay?” The taller hunter looked worried.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“You know Dean didn’t call you down here, right?”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah.  I think I got lured down here,” Jacob said, frustration kindling in him.  He rubbed at his collar.  Sam eyed him, then glanced at Dean, who’d calmed down the minute he’d laid eyes on Jacob.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and we know who.  Dr. Ellicott,” Dean informed him.  Sam didn’t contribute to the momentary silence, instead looking from Jacob to Dean, his face puzzled.  “That’s what the spirits have been trying to tell us.  You didn’t see him, did you?” Jacob shook his head.</p>
<p>“No,” Jacob grunted, his frustration continuing to simmer.  “How’d you know it was him?” That got Sam talking.  Apparently the doctor had been experimenting on his patients.  Whatever it was, it was bad enough neither hunter wanted to elaborate.  Bad enough for the patients to riot against the good doctor.  He’d been working on some rage therapy, originally designed to purge the patients of the emotion.  Instead, all it had done was make them worse.  His spirit could be doing the same thing, Sam reasoned.  Jacob nodded along.  It did make sense.</p>
<p>“Now come on,” Dean said, almost bouncing a little.  “Let’s find his bones and burn ‘em.  That book said something about a secret procedure room.  Bet if we find the room, we find him.” Dean pushed past him and started into the same biohazard room Jacob remembered adventuring into.  But when had he come out?  Sam glanced from him to Dean and started into the room.  Jacob sighed and trailed the brothers in.</p>
<p>“I told you, I looked everywhere.  I didn’t find a hidden room.”</p>
<p>“That’s why they call it hidden, Jake.” Dean shot him an amused look over his shoulder.  A corner of Jacob’s lip lifted in a tiny sneer.  Sam, already on his hands and knees near one of the shelves, looked up.</p>
<p>“There’s a door here.” Dean bent down to look.  Jacob reached down and drew his iron boot knife.  He was sick of this.</p>
<p>“Step away from the door.” Both brothers turned to look at him.  Jacob hardly recognized his own voice, cold and flat.  As he spoke, warmth began to drip from his nose.  He wiped at it with the hand gripping the flashlight, still pointing his knife at the brothers.  They got to their feet.  Exchanged glances.  Jacob adjusted his grip on the knife and stepped toward them, toward the door.  Dean stepped left, Sam stepped right.</p>
<p>“Jake, put the knife down,” Sam said slowly.  Jacob’s pendant was vibrating against his chest, warm then cold, warm then cold.  He didn’t know what to do but luckily, his mouth was happy to keep moving while he figured it out.</p>
<p>“Is that an order?” Dean took another step to the left.</p>
<p>“More of a friendly request,” Sam offered, holding both hands up.  Jacob sneered.</p>
<p>“Because you know, I’m getting pretty tired of orders.” Sam took a step to the right and Jacob realized what they were doing.  That was fine.  They could try to pin him all they wanted.  But he was the one with the knife.  He was the one with the power here.  More warmth trickled down his upper lip and he let it.</p>
<p>“I knew it,” Sam said, his voice soft and smooth in the darkness.  Jacob kept his gaze fixed on Dean.  Dean was the powerhouse here.  If he took Dean down, then the orders would stop and he’d be free to take on Sam however he wanted.  Then there would be no more orders.  No more demands or requests.  He could be free.  He could do whatever the fuck he wanted, go be alone in the middle of nowhere for however long he wanted.  “Ellicott did something to you, didn’t he?” Jacob shifted his grip on the knife.  He could throw it, pin Dean’s skull to the wall with one simple throw.</p>
<p>“For once in your life, shut your goddamn mouth.” Even with his eyes fixed on Dean, both brothers knew he was talking to Sam.  Dean’s eyes flicked over Jacob’s shoulder, then back to Jacob.  Sam was almost directly behind him but Jacob couldn’t bring himself to care.</p>
<p>“What are you gonna do, Jake?” Dean’s voice ripped through Jacob’s thoughts.  “There are two of us.  Killing me isn’t going to make Sam stop.” Jacob sneered again, tasting copper in his mouth.  Then Sam was on him.  Jacob fought when the taller hunter made to pin him, lashing out with the iron knife until Sam twisted it viciously out of his hand.  Good thing, too, because Jacob had been aiming for his ribcage, and a four-inch blade would do some serious damage there.  One of Sam’s long arms snaked around his neck and pulled him into an unflinching chokehold.  Jacob registered movement in front of him, his pendant burning white-hot again, and then there were ghostly hands on his face.</p>
<p>“Don’t be afraid,” Ellicott murmured to him even as he thrashed in Sam’s hold, “sometimes it takes more than one treatment to make things stick.” And then Jacob’s world burned.  There was fire and electricity and soft, malicious laughter.  Sam’s arm moved.  Jacob reached up and closed his hands over something painfully cold.  Ellicott let out a startled noise.  The hands left his face but Jacob was more concerned with the arm in his grasp.  He was touching a ghost.  He was <em> holding onto a ghost </em>.  Ellicott looked more scared than Jacob felt, which was good.  Jacob was angry now.  He reached up with his free hand and punched Ellicott hard across the face, making him stumble back out of Jacob’s space.  Sam’s hands fell away but Jacob could feel the hunter’s warmth at his back like a wall.</p>
<p>“You son of a bitch,” Jacob rasped out, punching the ghost again.  There was an odd numbness working its way into his hands, an almost burn starting in his knuckles and the pads of his right fingertips.  Anywhere he was touching the ghost was starting to burn.  But he was still so angry.  He couldn’t stop.  Didn’t want to stop.  Punching something felt good right now.  And until Ellicott disappeared, he was a perfect target.</p>
<p>It seemed to take the ghost forever to figure out he could just vanish out of Jacob’s reach.  When he did, Jacob’s anger didn’t go with him.  It stayed, boiling under his skin.  He glanced around.  Was his knife anywhere close by?  Because now, with Dean gone in the other room, this would be a perfect opportunity to take out Sam.  He was just heading for his knife when Sam cleared his throat.  Jacob looked up and the butt of Sam’s sawed-off was impacting his temple.  He staggered, then tried to dive for his knife.  He wouldn’t go down first.  But Sam was faster.  A hand fisted in Jacob’s jacket, an old grey thing from Goodwill that had originally smelled like cigarettes but now just smelled like gun oil and leather and matches.  Then Sam’s other fist connected and his world went black.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jacob came to in the back of the Impala.  Someone had taken all three knives on his person, that he figured within the first ten seconds of being awake.  He was also wrapped in multiple blankets, either an attempt at a makeshift straightjacket or comfort, he wasn’t sure.  His hands ached horribly where they were curled into his chest and even as he shifted, his chest pulsed with pain.  Of course, shifting made his head begin to pound, and by the time he’d taken all of this in, he just wanted to be asleep again.  The brothers slid into the Impala and closed the doors.  Dean started the engine and twisted to look at him.</p>
<p>“You gonna try to kill us again?” Jacob shook his head, clenching his teeth against the pain that action produced.  “Good.  Cos that would be all kinds of awkward.” Sam scoffed and punched him in the shoulder.</p>
<p>“You good, Jake?”</p>
<p>“Someone else gets to punch ghosts next time.  Everything hurts.” There was a beat of silence from the front seat.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you had some minor frostbite.” Sam said this carefully, like he was handling a verbal bomb.  “Uh, you should be fine.  As long as you don’t freeze them again for like, an hour, you’ll be fine.” Jacob huffed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I definitely plan on sticking my hands in a freezer.” Dean snorted.</p>
<p>“We all good?” Sam nodded.  Jacob let his head drop back onto the pillow cobbled together from various jackets and flannels.  “Good.  Let’s go find breakfast.  I need me some bacon.” With that announcement, they were off.  Of course, Jacob mused, they would ignore the fact that Jacob could <em> touch </em> ghosts.  They’d address it on Hour Nine in The Middle of Nowhere, he was sure.  For now, pancakes sounded amazing.</p>
<p>The diner they found was small and delicious.  Jacob managed to eat his pancakes and bacon without dropping anything, though neither the swelling in his fingers from holding onto the undead nor the mild nausea from his close acquaintance with the butt of Sam’s shotgun were enjoyable.  Sam was right, though, his hands were already starting to ache less.  Breakfast passed in a blur of joking and teasing and general light-hearted conversation.  And coffee, plenty of coffee, though Dean had cut him off after two cups and ordered him to take several Tylenol with the orange juice Sam had apparently ordered by mistake.  Then it was back to the motel for a few more hours of sleep before they’d hit the road and look for a new hunt.  Jacob was out like a light before Sam had even finished brushing his teeth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Poker Chips and Handguns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Season 1 Episode 11: Scarecrow.</p><p>John calls the brothers with a new hunt.  Jacob's truth about his time with John comes to light.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>April 10 2006 - Rockford, Illinois</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean stirred to the sound of voices.  As he sat up, he realized it wasn’t voices plural, but rather one singular, familiar voice.  But who was Sam talking to?  They’d just finished burning Ellicott’s bones, no way Sammy had already found them another hunt.  Hell, Jake had barely made it to the couch before he’d fallen asleep.</p><p>“We’re fine.  Dad, where are you?” Adrenaline sparked Dean’s brain to life, sharp and bright.  He sat up and reached for the phone.  Sam leaned away from him.  His younger brother’s voice sharpened as he nearly bit out, “what?  Why not?” Dean reached for the phone again.</p><p>“Sam, if that’s Dad, give me the phone.” Sam ignored him.  Dean debated the pros and cons of just plucking it from his brother’s hand, then realized with Dad on the other end, that would no doubt just reinforce the idea that they couldn’t behave like adults.  He listened to Sam and his father argue for a minute.  He looked over partway through the argument to see Jacob watching them, a frown set firmly on his face where he peeked above his nest of blankets.  For a twenty year old, the kid had a startlingly young face.  Sometimes Dean swore the kid was still in his teens.</p><p>Of course, there were the moments where Jacob looked older than the face he saw in the mirror every morning.  Those were the moments Dean knew Jacob had seen shit, had experienced it and chosen not to let it consume him.  Dean focused on Sam just as his younger brother said, with a gut-wrenchingly petulant tone, “No, alright?  No way.” Dean reached out and plucked the cell phone from his brother’s hand, ignoring the bitchface that resulted.</p><p>“I have given you an order,” his father said in his I-said-jump voice.  “Now.  You stop following me and you go do your job.  You understand me?”</p><p>“Dad, it’s me.” Dean heard his father’s breathing deepen.  “Where are you?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter.  I have a job for you.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Dean could feel Sam’s glare on the side of his head.</p><p>“Write these names down.” Before he could turn to scrabble for paper and pen, Sam nearly threw them onto the bed next to him.</p><p>“Uh, yeah.  I got a pen.  What are their names?” Dean had to scramble to keep up with the names his father was rattling off.  He could only hope his spelling was anywhere near accurate.</p><p>“Drop whatever you’re doing and go.  You still have the kid with you?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Good.  He’s useful.  Take him with you.”</p><p>“Dad,” Dean protested for the first time in the entire conversation.  Dean heard the silence on the other end as his father paused.  Dean nearly swallowed his tongue at the expectant silence.  “Jake, he, uh, he’s still pretty bruised.  We just finished a hunt.  The locals--” His father cut him off curtly, his tone sharp.</p><p>“So drop the kid somewhere, Dean.  Figure it out.” Dean nodded a little woodenly.  “Hell, leave him in the motel for all I care.  This monster won’t be around for long.  You only have a few days before it turns tail and hides for another year.  So move.  Now.” The line went dead.  Dean stared at his phone for a long moment before he turned to Sam and Jacob.</p><p>“I, uh, I guess we’re moving out.  Let’s go.  Jake, up and at’em.” He wiped a hand over his face.  He didn’t look at Sam until the three of them were packed into the Impala and on the road.  They stopped at a library to pull obituaries and do as much research as quickly as they could.  Sam worked the microfiche, Dean pored through any lore he could find that would target couples, and Jacob scrolled through the internet for any articles he could find.  By the time they left an hour later, they had a basic start on this hunt.  Of course, Dad hadn’t given them any clues.  Dean tried to squash his anger about that.  Dad was on an important hunt.  A team of three should be able to take down pretty much anything.</p><p>They piled into the Impala, Dean behind the wheel, and peeled out of the library parking lot.  Only then did he look over to see his younger brother’s face set in lines of indignant anger and self-righteous betrayal.  Dean turned on his Led Zeppelin cassette.  In the back, blankets rustled as Jacob made himself comfortable.  It was only a six-hour drive to the town Dad had named, down near the southern tip of the state.</p><p>When they stopped two hours later, it was to get gas, coffee, and to switch drivers.  Sam was clearly going stir-crazy and Dean wanted to start putting puzzle pieces together.  Jacob was still dozing on and off in the backseat and Dean knew the kid had to be feeling pretty shitty.  Sam’s knockout had left bruising overnight, spreading dark purple and blue down the kid’s left temple and cheek and around his left eye.  When they’d asked if he wanted any food, the response was an unhappy groan.  So he was nauseous, tired, and based on the sway when he climbed out to use the bathroom, dizzy.  But he took the Tylenol without complaining and let Dean check his pupils without too much bitching.  As long as he got the easy jobs or better yet, no jobs, he’d be fine in a few days.  Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief.  Then it was back into the Impala with Sam behind the wheel, and they were back on the road.  It was another two hours before Dean’s cassette ran out and they were left in silence.  Sam broke it.</p><p>“Alright, so the names Dad gave us, they’re all couples?” Dean, flipping through the notes they’d pulled from the library, nodded.</p><p>“Three different couples, all went missing.”</p><p>“And they’re all from different towns, different states?”</p><p>Dean scanned their notes.  “That’s right.  We got New York, Washington, Colorado.  Each couple took a road trip cross-country, none of ‘em ever arrived at their destination.  None of ‘em were ever heard from again.” Dean shrugged.</p><p>“Well, it’s a big country, Dean.” that was Sam’s trademark defensiveness prickling through his little brother’s voice.  The ‘I’m the Devil’s advocate’ tone that had always pissed Dad off so much.  “They could have disappeared anywhere.” Dean stayed calm.  Had to.</p><p>“Yeah, they could’ve.  But each one’s route took them through the same part of Indiana,” or so the families had all tearfully claimed when the couples were announced missing, “always on the second week of April, one year after another after another.” He glanced over at Sam, then into the backseat where Jacob was blinking at him.</p><p>“But this is the second week of April,” Jacob pointed out, yawning.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“So Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam’s tone couldn’t have been clearer in its disbelief if he’d shouted it from the rooftops.  Dean shrugged.</p><p>“Yahtzee.” Dean looked at the notes, really looked at them.  How long would it have taken Dad to put all this together?  Would he and Sam ever put this many dots together, from years and years of obituaries?  Would they have ever figured out to look at the routes the couples took, to see the pattern in the couples vanishing?  “Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this?  The different obits Dad had to go through, the man’s a master.” Sam let out a soft noise and suddenly they were pulling over.  Dean looked up as the Impala crunched through several feet of gravel and came to a halt.</p><p>“You mean the obits I had to go through?” That was Jacob’s voice, dry and amused.  Whatever Sam had been about to say, it drew him up short.  They both twisted to look at him.  Jacob grinned and it was dark with some remembered memory.  Jacob scoffed.  “I did a lot of digging for your dad.  Sure, he was smart.  But remember, he had a whole network of people to help him.  Including me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam’s hands tighten on the wheel.</p><p>“Did you know about the demon that killed Mom and Jess?” Dean was lost.  What did the demon have to do with the obituaries, with the couples getting killed in this tiny little town?  Sam wasn’t even looking at either of them, he was staring out the back windshield with flat, cold eyes.  Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“I’m the reason he knows it was a demon.  I’m the reason he knows to look for storms and mutilations, hell I helped him establish the patterns.” Dean didn’t like where this was going.</p><p>“So you can help us find Dad.” Dean liked that resulting silence even less.</p><p>“Your father,” Jacob started, and Dean was glad it was dark out because that voice was dark, too.  Dark with things he didn’t want to think about.  “Your father loves you.  If he’s telling you to stay away, there’s a damn good reason behind it.” Jacob sat up and leaned forward into their space.  The bruising looked worse as Dean’s eyes adjusted, darker and deeper until it swallowed half the kid’s face.</p><p>“You’re saying that because you don’t want me to go.” The anger in Sam’s voice was less than it had been before.  It sounded weaker, more pleading than angry.</p><p>“Sam.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to derail Jacob right now.  He couldn’t do anything but watch his two younger brothers exchange words and looks and expressions that for all he knew them, read like cuneiform.  He didn’t know what was going on here and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.  “If you are so suicidal you want to step between your father and a demon, I will load a handgun and put it to your head myself.” That voice didn’t sound like the Jacob they knew.  There was no lighthearted humor here.  The voice here was a cup spilling over with resignation and defeat and pain.  “But I will not let you be used like a poker chip.  Got it?” Dean chanced a glance at Sam.  He was staring at Jacob with some cocktail of emotions on his face, in his eyes that made him look so young.</p><p>“What are you saying?” Jacob’s face contorted into a snarl and Dean nearly reached for his knife.  In the dark, with the bruising on his face and the snarl on his lips, Jacob almost didn’t look human.</p><p>“Your father used me to interrogate demons.  I will not let the same be done to you!” The world stood still for one heartbeat, two.  Dean’s world was tilting on its side.  Time stopped.  Dad had done <em> what? </em>   “I was a mouthpiece between your father and whatever demon he summoned.  And when he didn’t need me anymore, I was given to you,” <em> like a suitcase, </em> Dean’s inner thoughts supplied, “to keep you safe.  He had the answers he needed.” Dad wouldn’t, Dean tried to think.  He wouldn’t.  “You want to help your father find the demon?  Learn.  People will die because you don’t know enough if you rush in now.”</p><p>“So teach us.” Sam’s voice was a wreck and Dean’s breath caught with the emotion in it.  Jacob’s gunmetal eyes gleamed in the faint light of the Impala’s dashboard lights.</p><p>“I will.  But not tonight.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because I will not enable you to kill yourself.” Jacob withdrew then, leaned back into the backseat and Dean could see how much pain he was in.  “Talk to me when you aren’t riding high on your self-righteous crusade.  John is a big boy.  He doesn’t want you to get killed.  If you die because I didn’t do the right thing or say the right thing, he will hunt me down and kill me because that is why I was given to you.  You want that?” Geez, was Jacob incapable of pulling punches or something?  Dean could almost hear Sam’s wheeze.  There was a long, loaded silence.</p><p>“Fine.” Sam turned around and took a slow breath.  Dean did the same.  Then, without any further discussion, Sam pulled the Impala back onto the road.</p>
<hr/><p>Jacob just wanted to sleep.  His head hurt, his stomach hurt, but for some reason, sleep was evading him.  He hadn’t meant to spill the beans like that.  Neither brother had known what John was doing or how he’d come to know any of that, and now Jacob had just tarnished their view of the man.  For all they’d known, John had learned all of that by talking with other Hunters and reading books and learning.  Now they knew that Jacob had played a part in it.  They knew he’d been given to them for a reason.</p><p>The remaining two hours passed in an awkward, stilted haze.  Sam was obviously stewing, chewing over Jacob’s words like never-ending taffy.  He just hoped Sam wouldn’t decide to interrogate him about John until <em> after </em> this hunt.  Sam’s head was barely screwed on straight as it was.  Dean, well, Jacob just prayed that he hadn’t destroyed John for the older hunter.  Dean loved his father.  He was John’s second-in-command, believed John could do no wrong.  Jacob wondered how his opinion of John had changed with Jacob’s words.  Would Dean ignore him and go on believing John was perfect?  Or would he let Jacob’s words rearrange his horizon and tilt north to a new direction?</p><p>Burkittsville Indiana was a tiny town.  They were lucky to find a motel that was still open about fifteen minutes from the town, only a few blocks from the local community college.  Dean handed the receptionist their current fake credit card to charge for a standard double-twin room, but as the young woman went to swipe the card she caught sight of Jacob.  He was hunched in on himself, one hand white-knuckled on the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder.  He’d insisted on coming in.  He was nauseous, and sitting curled up in the backseat wasn’t helping.  He wanted to get out and walk a little, he told Dean, and it had taken an impressive amount of convincing for it to happen.</p><p>“Is your little brother alright?” Dean glanced over at Jacob and frowned.</p><p>“Yeah.  He had a run in with some people a few towns over.” Jacob’s world chose that moment to spin one slow revolution.  He swayed.  The receptionist eyed him and turned back to her computer.  She hit a few keys, then looked at Dean.</p><p>“Well, I’m not supposed to do this, but we only have a couple other visitors right now.  We have a larger room available, two queens and a pull-out bed.  He looks like he shouldn’t be on a couch right now.” She knew families well, Jacob noted as he fixed his stare on the wooden countertop.  Dean grunted.</p><p>“As long as you won’t get in trouble, miss…”</p><p>“Rachel,” she supplied, a small smile curving her lips.  Jacob knew Dean was smirking.</p><p>“Rachel.  We’re in your debt.” Rachel tapped a few keys, swiped the card, and handed the receipt to Dean.  Jacob caught sight of their total and grinned to himself.  The double-twin room was supposed to be $60 a night, but she’d charged them $50 a night for a double-queen with a pull-out.  Either she was a true Good Samaritan or she had a soft spot for bruised up kids.  Or Dean was that attractive to her.  She handed them three keys, wished them goodnight, and winked at Dean as they left.</p><p>Dean waved to Sam, who was idling the Impala outside the office.  No doubt that was how Rachel knew there was a third to their little party.  Sam followed them six doors down to their lodging, parked, and killed the engine.  He had Dean’s bag in one hand, his in the other.  Dean led the way into their motel room, a surprisingly modern affair done in warm red and tan with fixtures that actually didn’t look older than him.  Jacob blinked from bed to bed, then to the couch that held the supposed pull-out.  Sam nearly shoved him onto the bed closest to the bathroom.</p><p>“You’re gonna trip over air if you stand up for much longer,” The younger hunter snarked affectionately as he set to digging up the pull-out.  Dean snorted, threw his bag onto the bed closer to the door, and vanished into the bathroom.  Jacob watched Sam unfold the bed, then rifle around the room for a spare blanket and a few pillows.  He found them in the closet and tossed them on the pull-out.  “Look,” Sam started as Jacob settled into the mattress with a groan.  “I, uh, I’m sorry for, uh, what I said.” Jacob shrugged.</p><p>“You were frustrated.  And I forget that the two of you knew a very different man than I did.  I shouldn’t have dropped that bomb on you.” He toed off his boots and drew his legs up onto the bed.  “Poke me in the morning.” With that, he curled up under the admittedly nice blanket and tried to sleep.  He was awake to hear Dean exit the bathroom and Sam enter it, to hear the mumbled conversation between them, to feel Dean’s hand tug the blanket a little higher over his shoulders, and to hear Sam turn out both the bathroom and the overhead lights.  </p><p>He didn’t wake until the next morning, and that was only because Sam lobbed a pair of socks at him.  “Rise and shine, Jake!” Jacob groaned and rolled over.  His headache was still there, but he wasn’t nauseous yet this morning.  “Come on, you can sleep in the car.  We have a monster to catch.” Why the hell was he so chipper?  It was only...Jacob checked his watch...oh, ten am.  Oops.  No doubt the brothers had already found breakfast, done some research, and worked up a few theories.  He sat up.  Sure enough, the brothers were at the round table with a paper bag and three paper cups between them.  Sam was tapping away at his laptop while Dean paged through the information they’d found yesterday.</p><p>Jacob dragged himself to the bathroom, then out to the table where Dean plunked a cup in front of him unceremoniously.  “Headache?”</p><p>“Better, still there.”</p><p>“Nausea?”</p><p>“Gone.”</p><p>“Dizzy?”</p><p>“Not yet.” Dean slid him two Tylenol.  “How’s my bruising?”</p><p>“You fishin’ for compliments?  Cos it looks like you went a couple rounds with a shotgun.” Jacob took a sip of his coffee and sighed.  “You get to hang out in the car and push some papers.  Too recognizable to waltz around town,” Dean informed him.  He sighed again.</p><p>“I love papers.”</p><p>“Knew it,” Dean smirked.  “Everyone’s favorite job.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Good of the Many</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Season 1 Episode 11: Scarecrow.</p><p>The clues start to come together.  The Vanir gets its sacrifice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>April 11 2006 - Burkittsville, Indiana</em>
</p><p> </p><p>By the end of the day, Jacob was amused.  The brothers had spent the entire day talking to the locals.  All they had to show was a growing distrust from 80% of the town’s population, including the town’s sheriff.  Only one person had remembered the latest couple to vanish, a young woman who remembered pumping the couple’s car full of gas on their way out of town.</p><p>“They weren’t here more than ten minutes,” the old man murmured, tapping his fingers on his lip as he thought.  Jacob, leaning on the front counter of the little shop, eyed him.  He had a ring on his right hand, Jacob noted, an intricate little silver thing that rang a bell somewhere in his mind, distant and dim.</p><p>“You remember anything else?”</p><p>“I told ‘em how to get back to the interstate.  They left town.”</p><p>“Could you point us in the same direction?” Dean had all the eagerness of someone getting a lead on long-lost friends, Jacob mused as they trotted out to the Impala.  “What’d you think, Jake?” Jacob considered the encounter.</p><p>“The old man had a ring on his right hand,” he offered.  “It looked familiar but I don’t know why.  Like knotted thread.  I wouldn’t peg a guy his age in a town like this to wear a ring like that unless there was a reason.” Sam, settled in the passenger seat flipping through John’s journal, looked up.</p><p>“Like knotted thread?”</p><p>“Yeah, like...I dunno, a ball of yarn.  Strands winding around each other.” Sam hummed, flipped through a few pages of the journal, then held up a page to Jacob.  “Yeah, almost like that.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a Celtic knot.” Things were trickling together in Jacob’s mind, slow and itching.</p><p>“Sam.  You know anything else that looks like that?  But part of a circle?  Fuck, concussions.  I just want to be able to <em> think </em>.” Sam flipped through the journal again.  Dean put the car into drive and started down the road the man had pointed out.  It seemed to take forever but then Sam was showing Jacob a page.  There was a grainy image taped to a page of the journal.  The image was of a tree, but the roots and the branches wove into each other in an odd, braided design.</p><p>“Like that?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Okay, so that’s the symbol of Yggdrasil.  The Norse tree of life.”</p><p>“Why would an old man in small-town Indiana wear a silver ring with the symbol of the Norse tree of life?” Dean scoffed.  In the momentary silence, a crackling, whirring noise rose from the seat between Sam and Dean.  “Dude, who left the EMF meter on?” Ever since Jacob had joined them, the thing had a tendency to react whenever Jacob’s collar started working.  “Jake, you live?” Jacob shook his head.  His collar was stone cold and quiet against his skin.  Sam looked out the window.</p><p>“Dean, we’re next to an orchard.”</p><p>“Yeah, and?”</p><p>“Tree of life?  Orchard?  Come on, don’t be stupid.” Jacob snickered.  Dean shot him a look which only made him laugh harder.  They pulled off into the orchard and as Jacob went to get out, Sam stopped him.  “You stay here.  If you hear screaming, start her up.” Jacob rolled his eyes but slid into the front seat as they left.  That did sound like a better plan than him stumbling around in the woods with one of the brothers.  No doubt he’d trip over something and refresh his concussion.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> April 12 2006 - Burkittsville, Indiana </em>
</p><p>They were getting somewhere.  Norse symbols, the missing man as a scarecrow, all of those clues being in the orchard, Jacob felt like they were only a step away from cracking this hunt.  But now, as Jacob stared into Sam’s pale eyes, all he could think about was two nights ago on the side of the road, snarling at the hunter about demons and suicide.  Dean was off getting breakfast and chatting with a local girl, one of the few they hadn’t talked directly to yet.  That left him and Sam in the motel twiddling their thumbs.</p><p>“So, uh, the other night.”</p><p>“What about it?” Jacob tried not to get defensive.  But this was a talk he’d never really wanted to have.  Not with the man’s sons.</p><p>“You said my Dad used you to interrogate demons.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“What did you mean?” Jacob snorted and turned back to his journal, back to the entry on the Roosevelt Asylum he was working on.</p><p>“We’re not doing this right now.” Sam closed his journal, tugged it from his hands, and set it on the arm of the couch.  “Excuse me?” Sam stared at him.</p><p>“You know about demons.  Dad is hunting them.  I want to help him.  So tell me what you meant.” Jacob’s collar crackled.  He shook his head at Sam.  The brothers were careful about the collar, about how they worded and stated and asked things.  But Sam was done playing, apparently.  He wanted answers badly enough to force them out of him.  The collar crackled a little louder.</p><p>“My collar attracts demons looking for a meatsuit.  I am a living cursed object which, to them, is a hell of a novelty and something of a magnet.  Your father decided to use that in his favor.  So he used me to talk with the demons.” Jacob could see the truth dawning in Sam’s eyes, harsh and damning in the morning light.  Secrets like this were better off told in the dark, Jacob decided, where shadows could dampen the pain and the hurt of the truth.  “He was hunting one specific demon.  So why not use me to get information?” the motel door slammed open and Jacob glanced over.  Dean was standing there, another paper bag in one hand and a drink tray in the other.  He looked startled.</p><p>“Uh, I’m sure I’m interrupting one hell of a chick-flick moment but, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I brought coffee and info.  Someone lock the door.” Jacob sprang to do that.  He could feel Sam’s bitchface aimed somewhere between the back of his neck and Dean and he thanked whoever was listening for Dean’s interruption.  </p><p>Of course, it wasn’t that easy.  Once food was distributed (Dean had been feeling nice and gotten him blueberry pancakes), his coffee was doctored, Sam prodded him to keep talking.  “How’d he use you?” Dean settled more comfortably in his chair, coffee in hand.  His bright green eyes darted between them, obviously wondering what he’d missed.</p><p>“How do you think, huh?  It involved a Devil’s Trap, a chair and rope, and some symbols.  Then a lot of holy water and salt and screaming.” Jacob shivered.  Some of the demons hadn’t known how to swap awareness with him when John reached for that holy water.  Most had, and it had ended up with Jacob feeling the phantom burns until the demon was forced back into control in an agonizing twist of consciousness.  Dean set his coffee down very carefully.  “Symbols to keep the demons from fleeing my body, carved in materials that hurt demons just by existing.” Sam was pale.  Dean wasn’t much better.  “Your father never harmed me physically.  There were no knives or injections of salt water or bullets,” Jacob informed them, trying to blink away phantom Devil’s Traps.  The chair he was sitting in didn’t have rope dangling around the armrests, it didn’t.  He set his hands on the table just to be sure.  Sam swallowed.</p><p>“How many times?” Dean’s voice was low, harsh.</p><p>“I lost count at thirty.” Dean blinked once, twice, then turned to Sam.  “It was over a year and a half,” Jacob defended.  Dean held up a hand.  Jacob closed his mouth.</p><p>“If you say ‘I told you so,’ I will punch you,” Dean informed his brother.  Sam looked too shell-shocked to respond.  Dean turned back to Jacob.  “Why’d he give you up, if you were such a fucking gold-mine?” Jacob wanted to sneer at him.  He didn’t.</p><p>“Your father got what he needed.  He got enough information to start closing in on the demon.  He didn’t need me as a mouthpiece anymore.  Said I’d do more good with you.” Not John’s exact words, but clear enough.  Sam squinted at him.</p><p>“What exactly did he say to you?”</p><p>“He said, and I quote, ‘keep my boys safe.  If they die and you survive any encounter while I’m alive, I know how to find you.’” Jacob shrugged.  “He’s a protective father and I’m a glorified military dog.  What else is new?” Sam’s face twisted into something cold and dark.  For a split second, Jacob was genuinely worried for the Winchester family reunion, whenever that happened next.  John might not walk away.  Then he looked at Dean.  The older hunter had a hand over his mouth.  He looked tense enough to imitate a statue.  “Hey,” Jacob soothed, raising his hands, “I’m alive.  I’m alive, your father loves you.  I shouldn’t have brought this up now.” Dean made an angry sound.  It sounded painful.</p><p>“I, uh, yeah.  Okay.  So I ran into this girl.  Emily.  She moved here after her parents died, moved in with her aunt and uncle when she was thirteen.  They run the general store.  She said the town feels ‘blessed’ cos things go so well here.  She knows the towns around them are dying but here’s this cutsie little tourist trap, right?” Jacob took a steadying breath and nodded.  They were on a hunt.  He could relive John’s torment another day.  “And get this, there’s a couple in town today.  Car broke down mysteriously.  Guy and girl.  We gotta figure this out today.” Jacob nodded again.</p><p>“So now what?  We still don’t know what this thing is,” Sam pointed out.  “We’ve looked everywhere.”</p><p>“What about the college?” Jacob offered.  “We’re next to a community college, right?  So someone looks up Norse history, maybe lore about Norse gods and couples and, what, fertility?  Good harvests?” Dean considered this.</p><p>“You and Sam go talk to the community college professors.  I’m gonna go fix a car and get those people back on the road.  Sam, call me if you find anything.  Jake,” Dean paused.  Jacob eyed him, idly fiddling with his ring.  “Don’t get too far from Sam.  Not ‘til we figure out what this thing is.” Jacob nodded.</p><p>“Can do.  Don’t get eaten yourself.” Dean snorted and with that, they were off.  Dean dropped the two at the community college, then continued on into the town of Burkittsville.  Sam and Jacob stepped into the administration area to survey possible leads.  Sam glanced at Jacob.</p><p>“I’ll talk with anthropology, you talk with religion?” Jacob shrugged.  That split sounded fine to him.  “Meet back here in an hour.” Sam sighed, ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and turned toward the social sciences block of offices.  Jacob watched him walk away before he turned toward his own block: religion, history, and languages.  He didn’t have any frame of reference for a building like this.  Would the teachers be arranged alphabetically by last name, like library books?  Maybe they’d be arranged by subject and then by name?  Jacob swallowed the sudden surge of anxiety.  This wasn’t hard.  He knew he was looking for two teachers.  Or were they professors, if they taught college?  Okay, he could do this.</p><hr/><p>“So, Mr. Larson, what can I help you with today?” Jacob fidgeted.  Dean had somehow gotten him in the habit of picking band members’ names to use as aliases, but he had the tendency to forget what name he’d chosen.  ‘Larson’ was becoming a common one, almost solely so he could remember it. </p><p>“I’m doing some research on nature gods and I was hoping you could help me.  I’m looking for European nature gods, you know, but specifically forestry and fertility and protection.  They go hand in hand, right?” Jacob glanced up to meet the professor’s eyes.  He was an older man, with a keen expression that seemed to look straight through him.  “I’ve found a lot of stories about Tapio and Mielikki from Finland, Cybele and Demeter from Greek mythology, even Nantosuelta from the Celtic myths.  I just can’t seem to find anything that matches in Norse mythology.  Do you know of any?” The professor made a thoughtful noise.</p><p>“Let me check a few books.  I don’t suppose you’d have time to wait, would you?” Jacob checked his watch.  If the professor were quick, he could hang around.</p><p>“I have about twenty minutes.  Do you want me to wait here?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.  That’s fine.  You might even be able to help me.  Here, start with this one.” The old man handed him a book, surprisingly thick and heavy.  Jacob looked from the book to the professor, who smiled encouragingly.  “It won’t bite, go on.” So Jacob lowered the book to his lap, flipped it open, and started perusing.  Okay, so there were two broad categories of Norse gods, the Vanir and the Aesir.  If the Aesir were gods like Odin and Loki and Thor, this didn’t seem like something they’d do.  Jacob flipped to the Vanir section and, after a few pages, stumbled over a picture of a scarecrow.</p><p>“Ah, the Vanir.” Jacob looked up.  The professor was eyeing him with an odd sort of interest.  “Gods of protection, are they not?” Jacob scanned the text.</p><p>“Gods of protection and prosperity, keeping local settlements safe from harm.” Like this town, in its little bubble of safety and prosperity.  “Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields.  Other villages practiced sacrifice, one male and one female.  The gods may have gained power from energy stored in natural objects believed to be sacred, such as trees and rivers.” Jacob swallowed.  “This, uh, this would be really helpful.  Do you mind if I copy this section to take with me?” The professor smiled with a grim, sad note in his eyes that made the hair rise on the back of Jacob’s neck.</p><p>“Of course not.  The copier is just down the hall on your left.” Jacob stood.  The professor stood with him, opening his office door.  Jacob stepped out and turned to the left.  Something rustled behind him but before he could turn to look, an arm snaked around his neck and pulled him back against a man’s chest.  Jacob could see a dark uniform coat in his periphery.  The book tumbled to the floor but Jacob was too busy trying to eel out of the man’s hold.  He reached up, gripped the man’s wrist and tried to pull him away.  At his back, he could feel pins and badges poking into him through his layers.  Was this a police officer?  He gasped for air, choking when nothing came.  As he reached for his knife in one last act of defense, his world began to fade out.  His knees buckled.</p><p>“Easy there,” was the last thing he heard before the world went grey.</p><hr/><p>When he woke up, it was to the feeling of something tight around his eyes and hands.  He was crammed somewhere uncomfortable, and they were moving.  His collar was burning against his chest, hot but not white-hot, like it knew he hadn’t had a choice in this separation.  His head hurt.  The bruising along his temple and cheek was pulsing again, pounding a dull tattoo against the side of his skull.  His hands, he discovered as he shifted on the seat - was he in a car? - were bound behind him.  Someone had blindfolded him, too.  The car turned, then turned again.  Jacob was helpless to steady himself as he swung and toppled across the length of the backseat.  He groaned.</p><p>“Yeah,” someone sighed.  Did he know that voice?  “Me too, kid.” Confirmed, he did not.  Who were they and where were they taking him?  They drove for what felt like an hour before the car stopped.  Jacob tensed as car doors opened.  Hands closed over his arms, yanked him upright none too gently, then hauled him out of the vehicle.  They weren’t in the city anymore, he knew that much.  The air smelled like grass and trees and dust.  He was marched along uneven terrain and then, to his unease, led down a small set of wooden stairs that creaked under his boots.  The hands uncuffed him but before he could turn and swing, the rapid thundering told him that the person had just bolted right back up the stairs.  Jacob yanked off his blindfold and looked around.  It was still daylight, he could see that through the tiny cracks in the wood that made up the roof of his prison.  It looked like he was trapped in some kind of root cellar.  The floor was packed dirt, the walls supported by 2x4s that felt like they had shelving built into them.  Memories began to trickle back.  The professor, the book, the Vanir.  So he was a sacrifice.  Great, lovely.  Perfect.</p><p>He sighed and sat against one of the shelves.  His head was pounding again, an all-over headache that made thinking way too difficult.  Okay, so they’d gone to the college.  Him and Sam had split up.  He’d found the book, read about the Vanir.  But how had he ended up here?  He tried to think about it harder but the more he tried, the harder his head hurt.  He gave up and tucked his head into his drawn-up knees.  If this town had been sacrificing couples to this god for however many years, clearly a half-conscious person wasn’t going to be able to bust out of the place they’d chosen to hide those couples.  With his head alternately pounding and swimming, with no way out and no light to see anything, Jacob had nothing to do but wait.</p><hr/><p>When a girl had been walked down the stairs, Jacob had thought about fighting back.  About rushing up the stairs, knocking down the elderly woman at the mouth of the opening.  But as he staggered to his feet, the sheriff came into sight, the nose of a long hunting rifle aimed straight at him.  The sheriff’s face was tense, his mouth a thin gash set deep into his face.  He looked nervous.  Jacob sneered at him and he flinched.  Good.  With the brothers no doubt knowing he was missing, they’d be tearing the town apart.  God help whoever came between them and their search.  The girl and the people exchanged words.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?”</p><p>“For the common good,” the woman said, like she had the right to play judge, jury, and executioner for anyone.  Jacob switched his sneer to her and she paled.  The door closed.  Jacob heard the scrape and thump of a lock being put into place.</p><p>“My...my name’s Emily,” came a tearful, tentative voice.  Jacob sighed.</p><p>“Jacob.”</p><p>“How...how’d you end up here?”</p><p>“My...brothers.  We were trying to figure out what was killing people in the town.  I, uh, I guess I found out, or I got too close.  Someone knocked me out.  It has something to do with the Vanir, some Norse gods that can get their power from the trees.  I guess that’s close enough to be a threat, since that sheriff had his rifle trained right on me.” Jacob shrugged.  Emily sniffled.</p><p>“So what, they’re gonna kill us?” She slid to sit on the ground.  He joined her.</p><p>“Sacrificing sounds so much more ‘common good,’” Jacob deadpanned.  Emily moaned low in her throat.  He sighed.  “Sorry.  Don’t suppose you knew anything about this?”</p><p>“What, the god and the sacrifices?  It all just sounds nuts to me.”</p><p>“Me too, sister.  But unless we figure it out, we’re toast.  Look, are there any trees around here that just scream ‘special?’  Bigger, older, maybe they turn funny colors and sing when it’s about to rain?” He was surprised when she leaned over and punched him in the shoulder.  He barked out a laugh.</p><p>“For a guy on death row, you’re pretty full of it, mister.” He made a soft noise, more out of aggravation than anything.</p><p>“Laugh or you’ll cry, isn’t there a saying about that?  But come on, tree.  Special or sacred or anything?  Maybe people talk about it like it’s alive?” He could hear her straighten up.</p><p>“Wait, the First Tree!  They say the immigrants brought the tree over with them from Norway, it’s this ancient tree that grows a million tiny little apples on it every year.  It’s in the orchard somewhere.  Aunt Stacy would never let me even think about picking the apples from it.”</p><p>“Don’t s’pose you know where it is?”</p><p>“Nope.” they both sighed.</p><hr/><p>Darkness had fallen when the lock on the door began to rattle.  Jacob dragged himself to his feet, groaning when the world swayed.  Whatever the sheriff had done, it hadn’t done his concussion any favors.  Emily got to her feet as well.  The door opened and four figures stood there.  Jacob could really only see short, tall, taller, and giant as his eyes adjusted to the new range of light, but that was enough to send hope and adrenaline through his blood.  When his collar went from prickling hot to stone cold, that was enough for him.  Maybe they’d get out of here before the Vanir showed its face.</p><p>“Jake?” That was Dean’s growl.</p><p>“‘m here.  Emily is, too.” They had to help each other up the steep staircase.  Sam nearly lifted Emily out of the cellar, helping her back and away from everyone even as he kept an obvious eye on the old woman.  Jacob looked from Dean to the old man, noting the handgun pressed into the small of the old man’s back.  Dean’s hand was rock steady and his eyes, as Jacob’s eyes adjusted, looked like chips of stone.  Dean’s free hand reached up to Jacob’s chin and turned his head back and forth.  Jacob wondered what he was looking for.</p><p>“Get in the car.” The older hunter’s voice was hitting new depths, Jacob discovered, as he and Emily staggered their way to the Impala after the brothers picked their cuffs.  Dean had pointed them rather vaguely, so Jacob was relying on Emily to know the way to the road.  They could see the glint of chrome when the first gunshot rang out, followed by the blast of a shotgun.  Jacob tried to move a little faster but the world hadn’t stopped swaying since he’d gotten up.  Emily ended up dragging one of his arms over her shoulders when he nearly ate it over a tree root.  There was another shotgun blast, a scream, and then silence, long and ominous.</p><p>Jacob had barely made it to sitting on the car’s trunk when Sam and Dean melted out of the shadows like spirits, with shotguns propped over their shoulders and matching grim expressions on their faces.  Jacob could hear Emily’s breathing accelerate.</p><p>“Where...where are…” her voice trailed off.  Dean took a deep breath.</p><p>“The, uh, the Vanir took them.  I’m sorry, Emily.” She let out a choked sob, but that was it.  Jacob leaned back into the seat, swallowing the urge to do something wildly inappropriate like laugh.  The Vanir was gone, it-they had gotten it’s-their sacrifice.  Danger over.  Perfect.  “Come on, we gotta go.” Dean chivvied her into the car across from Jacob, glanced at him (Jacob flapped a hand at him), then got into the front seat and kicked the car to life.  They tore out of the orchard and only when they’d come to the motel did Jacob take a deep breath.  Was it sad that he really only felt safe with the brothers or in a warded motel room these days?  </p><p>“You burn the tree?” Jacob got into the motel room under his own power but it was a close thing.  His headache was getting worse, something he knew the brothers wanted to ask about.  Emily was watching the three of them with surprising intensity.</p><p>“We’re going back in the morning,” Sam offered.  “You guys need to sleep and Jake, you need some painkillers, dude.” Jacob grunted at him.  “No, seriously.  Come here.” The giant of a hunter manhandled him to sit on the edge of his own bed, then flashed a penlight in his eyes.  Jacob groaned.  “Talk to me.”</p><p>“Headache from hell, doc.” Dean snorted.  “Look, I don’t know what happened, okay?  I found a book, asked the professor if I could make a copy and then the next thing I know, I’m in the back of a car, blindfolded and handcuffed.  I don’t remember.” Sam scowled.  “And I have a headache the size of Dean’s ego.  Feels like someone packed my brain full of midgets and gave ‘em all sledgehammers.” Both Emily and Dean snorted.  “I’m also game to sleep in the car if that means the lady gets something other than the floor.” Jacob tried to stand.  He didn’t go anywhere.</p><p>“We’re not gonna make her sleep on the floor.” Jacob squinted at Dean, ignoring Sam’s hands that were now firmly set on his shoulders (he’d never admit that was one of the top reasons he was still upright).</p><p>“You’re gonna make her go back to her house?  Seriously?  After her aunt and uncle just tried to sacrifice her to some bloodthirsty god?  Are you shitting me?” The hand on his left shoulder tightened.  Jacob glared at the older hunter.  Dean actually laughed.</p><p>“Jesus, kid.  You seriously need some sleep if you think I’m gonna make Emily go back to the house.  Will you just listen?  Lady gets the couch.  You’n’me are bunking because I know you don’t kick and Sammy’s too much of an octopus.  Now shut up and sleep, Princess.” Jacob sneered at him but to his embarrassment, Sam actually had to help him to stand and stagger into the bathroom.  Some hunter he was, Jacob grumbled internally as Dean tapped out with Sam to help him across the room, can’t even make it through a hunt without needing to be carried.  Jacob swallowed the Tylenol he was given, then crawled under the covers.  He registered Emily talking softly with Sam, her voice surprisingly light given the circumstances.  Dean hit the lights and Jacob tried to relax into the darkness.  The mattress dipped with Dean’s weight and only then, with one brother on each side of him, did Jacob sleep.</p><hr/><p>April 13 2006 - Burkittsville, Indiana</p><p>Morning dawned bright and sunny.  By the time the sun had risen over the treeline, the four of them were already back at the orchard.  Only a few faint red smears in the grass gave any clue as to what had happened the night before.  Sam uncapped the container of gasoline and began to dump it over the trunk of the First Tree.  It was an ancient tree, that Jacob could say with confidence.  It had the twisted, gnarled appearance of something that had stood sentinel for years throughout everything the world had thrown at it.  It almost seemed a pity to burn it down, he reflected.  He glanced at Emily’s face.  Okay, so not a pity.  Probably a good thing.  He turned back to the tree.  Sam had finished pouring the gasoline.</p><p>“You know, the whole town’s going to die.” Emily took the burning branch from Dean and approached the tree.</p><p>“Good.” She gripped the branch in both hands and for a moment, Jacob wondered if she was second-guessing herself.  Did she really want to do this?  Maybe she was going to chicken out.  But then she was almost hurling the branch at the First Tree, and it began to burn.</p><hr/><p>Emily climbed onto the bus without looking back.  Only when she’d reached the top of the stairs did she glance down, smile, and wave to the three of them.  Dean offered her a little two-fingered wave.  The bus door hissed as it closed and then it was backing out, taking her to, Jacob could only assume, Boston.  That was what the bus claimed, after all.</p><p>“Think she’ll be alright?” Jacob wondered this aloud as he watched the bus start toward the highway.  Dean shrugged.</p><p>“I hope so.”</p><p>“But the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam was already fiddling with his jacket, eyes cast down the road they’d taken to get here.  Like he wanted to go back and hunt down the responsible parties.</p><p>“Well, what’ll happen to the town is punishment enough.” Dean led the way back to the Impala.  They all clambered into the car.  “So.  Where are we headed?” Dean glanced at Sam.  “You still set on finding Dad?” Sam shrugged.  Jacob leaned forward over the front seat, his interest piqued.</p><p>“I mean, yeah.  I think I’m always gonna wanna find him.  But you’n’me, I think we gotta learn more before we go.” Sam glanced up and in the rearview mirror, his eyes met Jacob’s.  “And I think I know who we gotta talk to.  You in, Jacob?” Jacob grinned.</p><p>“Always down to hunt demons, Sam.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Written in Blood of Suffering Souls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Freeform snapshots.  Michael becomes Jacob.  Timeline might be a little screwy, but humor me?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em><span class="u"> April 16 2006</span> </em>
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<p> </p>
<p>“So tell me what you know.”</p>
<p>“Uh.” Dean glanced at Sam.  “Most of what we know comes from our Dad’s journal.” Sam started to flip through the worn little book until Jacob pulled it from his hands.</p>
<p>“You just asked what we know.” Sam looked up at Jacob blankly.  The younger man’s smile was bitter. </p>
<p>“Yeah.  What you know.  Not what you can read.  Demons aren’t gonna wait for you to find the right page to exorcise them with.” Dean coughed and took a swig from his beer.  They were seated at the round table provided by their latest motel, this one cheap-but-decent in Marietta, Ohio.  The whole room was done in shades of brown and blue which, in Jacob’s opinion, should have made it look dark and muddy.  The result though, was a cozy atmosphere.  He scowled at the brothers.</p>
<p>“They’re evil,” Dean offered after a moment.  “Holy water burns ‘em.  Exorcisms drive ‘em back to Hell.”</p>
<p>“They can possess people and when they do, they have black eyes.  They disdain humans, think we’re useless.” Sam fiddled with his own bottle.  Jacob drummed his fingers on the table.  “Apparently they hunt us.” Dean’s mouth twisted into a dark frown.</p>
<p>“How do you know if someone’s possessed?” The brothers traded another look.  Silence.  Jacob sighed.  “Okay, Demon 101.  Demons are twisted souls.  Lucifer was the first demon, though technically he was an angel that was cast out of Heaven for defying--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em><span class="u"> June 24 2002</span> </em>
</p>
<p>“--his Father,” Tor lectured across the diner table.  Michael nodded, wrapping his hands around the ceramic mug.  “He created demons from there, an entire society of them.  And there are levels, kid, just like there are levels of angels.”</p>
<p>“Wait, angels are real, too?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but worry about demons.  So you have your black-eyed demons, the most common out there.  They’re henchmen, cannon fodder.  Weak.  Next are the red-eyed ones, the deal-makers.  Crossroads demons.  A little stronger than the black-eyed ones.  After that, yellow-eyed.  They’re the army generals.  Bigger, stronger, meaner.  These are the ones who hatch plots, hunt down humans, they have ideas for how to improve Hell.  These are the ones to watch out for.” Michael gulped.</p>
<p>“What’s...above them?” Tor shrugged.</p>
<p>“Not sure yet.  Gotta be something.” Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“But...how do you kill them?  You did something to Skinner to get the demon out of him.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.  I built a--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em><span class="u"> April 19 2006</span> </em>
</p>
<p>“--Devil’s Trap,” Jacob mumbled, sketching a quick design onto the motel’s notepad.  The brothers squinted at it.</p>
<p>“Looks like a pentagram,” Dean offered, cracking open a new bottle of beer.</p>
<p>“Technically it’s one of the Seals of Solomon the King,” Jacob corrected the hunter, his voice falling into an odd lilting chant.  “Clavicula Salomonis.  Here is the First Pentacle of Mercury, which serveth to invoke the Spirits who are under the Firmament.  It shall convey magnetism upon the owner, in this purpose will it bind those possessed unwillingly by forces demonic.  Only after those demonic forces are removed will the First Pentacle release its hold.” He gestured to the symbols around the pentagram.  “Those are sigils for binding and restriction.  Once a demon steps inside, it can’t escape or focus its powers until the trap is either broken somehow or the demon is exorcised.  The only powers the demons can use while in the Devil’s Traps are that of wind, sort of an aimless thrashing of power for them.  Hence why you need to <em> know </em> these things, not just rely on a goddamned journal.”</p>
<p>Jacob sketched another diagram, this one much more complex, below the pentagram.  “If the First Pentacle of Mercury is the handgun of Devil’s Traps, the Heptagram is the shotgun.  The Heptagram takes longer to set up, but it’s more powerful and has a few additional tricks up its sleeve.” He slid the second design over to the brothers.  “Keep in mind, this sketch is incredibly simplified.  It’s two of the Seals of Solomon the King,” Jacob said, his voice falling into that lilting chant again.  “Here is the Grand Pentacle, which serveth to convene all spirits; when shown to them they will bow and obey you.  Here also is the Fifth Pentacle of Mars.  It is terrible unto the demons, and at its sight and aspect they will obey thee, for they cannot resist its presence.” There were goosebumps rising along the brothers’ arms, Jacob could see that.</p>
<p>“You gonna show us the full Heptagram at some point?” Dean was taking this more seriously than Jacob had expected.  Which, on reflection, hadn’t been entirely fair to Dean.  He had survived this long, which meant he understood how important all of this information was.</p>
<p>“Yes.  I’ll--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em> June 24 2002 </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“--get there.  I expect you to memorize all of this though, just a warning.  The Seals of Solomon, how to draw them.  You’re going to memorize the exorcisms and blessings.” Michael’s jaw dropped.  The exorcism Tor had recited to exorcise Skinner had been long!  “Don’t give me that look.  You’re either gonna memorize it or you’re gonna die.  Your choice, kid.  I’m not a normal Hunter, not like the others guys that run around here killing ghosts and poltergeists and werewolves.  I hunt demons.  That’s basically it.  End of story.  So if you want to stick around, you better learn.” Michael nodded a little numbly, taking a long sip of the cola in his hand.  They were settled at a motel in Montana, the first stop they’d really made since fleeing Wyoming.  Tor had a journal flipped open in front of him, a simple book bound in leather.</p>
<p>“What am I memorizing?”</p>
<p>“The entire Rituale Romanum.  The full-length holy water blessing, none of that shorthand stuff.  Sure, learn the shorthand.  But if I ever hear you using it when we aren’t being actively hunted, I’ll take it out on you.  Laziness won’t cut it here.  You’re also going to learn the three Leonine Prayers - that’s the Leonine Prayer, the Prayer to Michael the Archangel, and the Prayer Before the Crucifix.  Lastly, you will learn the Anima Christi and the Vade Retro Satana.  All of those in Latin and English.” Michael gaped.  Tor seemed to realize the enormity of the task because he added, “I don’t care how long it takes you.  I’m not expecting it to be learned by midnight.  But if, in a week, you can’t rattle off at least half the Rituale Romanum, I will punish you.  Are we clear?” Michael nodded.</p>
<p>“Um, sir?” Tor didn’t blink.  “Uh, can I ask why?  You used the Rituale Romanum on the demon, right?  And it worked.  So why do you need the, uh, the Prayer Before the Cross and the Lion’s Prayer?” Michael was confused when Tor actually grinned at him.</p>
<p>“Good.  Ask questions.  I want questions when you know you don’t know the answer.  I’m gonna be hard on you, but I want you to understand <em> why </em> we do things.” Tor paged through his leather-bound book idly.  “The Rituale Romanum is the traditional way to exorcise demons.  It works, sure.  But some hunters think demons can resist it.  Sort of like an illness.  If a demon gets exorcised by the same ritual over and over again, it can build up a resistance.  So I make sure I have a bunch in my arsenal, just to keep them guessing.  The stronger the demon, the more esoteric the exorcism might need to be.  </p>
<p>“The Prayer to Michael is a stronger exorcism than the Rituale Romanum.  If a demon resists the Rituale, use the Prayer to Michael.  To be very honest, there’s a 99% chance the archangel himself will ignore you, but the exorcism will still work.  If he does decide to pay attention, cover your eyes and ears.  You’ll know what I mean.  Vade Retro Satana and the Prayer Before the Crucifix are sort of knockbacks.  They’ll stun demons if you just need some breathing room, whether that’s to finish a Devil’s Trap, grab your holy water, escape, or finish a salt line.  The Anima Christi is a last-ditch effort.” Tor’s eyes drilled into Michael’s.  Michael gulped.  “That’s a ritual for if you ever get possessed by something we can’t beat.  You get that one right, you take whatever’s inhabiting your body with you to wherever it belongs.  You and that demon are heading to Hell.  Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.  You don’t come back.  Are we clear on that?” Michael nodded, feeling a little like a bobble-head.</p>
<p>“Can I, uh, write this down somewhere?” Tor offered him an incredulous smirk.</p>
<p>“Kid.  I don’t expect you to memorize literally everything.  I carry a journal for a reason.  We’ll find you something in the next town we pass through.  Now.  You gonna--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em><span class="u"> April 20 2006</span> </em>
</p>
<p>“--order something to eat?” Jacob looked up from his piece of paper, startled.  Dean snickered.  There was a waitress eyeing him with impatient amusement.  “Come on, hon.  You ordering?” Jacob shook himself and tore his gaze from the slowly developing Gordian-knot of lines that would eventually become a heptagram.</p>
<p>“Uh, what time is it, sorry?” The waitress checked her watch.</p>
<p>“10:46am.  We serve breakfast all day, lunch service starts at 11am.”</p>
<p>“Uh, French toast with a side of bacon, two eggs scrambled on the side.” The waitress scribbled that down, nodded, and walked off.  Sam stole the scrap of paper out from under his pen.  “Hey!” Sam avoided his grab.</p>
<p>“So this is a heptagram.” The younger hunter whistled.  “No wonder you said it was more complex.” Jacob grabbed it back.</p>
<p>“I’m not done, asshole.  It gets worse.”</p>
<p>“Worse?  Jake, that thing already looks like it would take an hour to paint somewhere.” Jacob shrugged and started working on the heptagon that would surround the ‘gram.  The brothers watched him for a long minute.  Jacob knew they were doing their non-verbal communication thing without having to look.  The silence always got heavy when they did that.  Sure enough, Sam reached forward almost cautiously to pluck both pen and paper from his hands.  Jacob didn’t resist.</p>
<p>“What’s going on, huh?” Jacob glanced at Dean.  “Ever since you started doin’ Demon 101, you’re getting all...twitchy.” Jacob reached for his silverware, unwrapped it, and proceeded to begin tearing the paper napkin ring into long, thin strips.  “Like, seriously.  You, fidgeting?” Actions belied words though, when Dean tossed another piece of scrap paper at him when he’d shredded the first.</p>
<p>“I, uh.  It’s a weird conversation I don’t want to have here.” Jacob averted his eyes, forced himself to set the paper down, and reach for his coffee mug.  He didn’t know how to explain what was going on in his brain.  He didn’t like it, he couldn’t control it, and he knew it wasn’t going to go away until he didn’t have to talk about this stuff again.  “I’m not sick, I’m not dying.  I just...yeah.  I’m fine.  Don’t ask until we’re not in public, okay?” He snuck a glance at Dean’s face, oddly relieved to see the confused acceptance on his face.</p>
<p>Sam saved them both by drawing Dean into a conversation about hunts in the area.  Of course, they’d had a whole day off, clearly they needed to start hunting again.  Jacob snuck the pen and paper back from Sam and started working on the Trap again.  He could do this from memory, he--</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em><span class="u"> August 2 2002</span> </em>
</p>
<p>--couldn’t stop fidgeting.  Tor had already warned him once, if he couldn’t stop fidgeting, Tor would find a way to make him stop.  But he was restless.  They’d been sitting around all day, literally all day. Sunrise to past sunset, and he couldn’t handle it anymore.  He drummed his fingers on his leg for a minute and Tor looked over, mouth pulling tight.  “I warned you,” the huge man sighed, and Michael froze.</p>
<p>“Wait, I’m sorry,” Michael started.  Tor ignored him.</p>
<p>“Shock him. Three. Three, two, one.” Michael jerked as, under his shirt, his collar heated and began to radiate pain down his spine.  It was an odd kind of pain, shivering and crackling and very different than when he’d broken his wrist last year.  But nevertheless, it still hurt, maybe almost as bad as when the doctors had set his wrist.  He tried to take a breath, to breathe through it, but the pain didn’t ebb in the slightest.  He didn’t realize he was trying to physically escape the pain until Tor said, “you know, if you stop moving, I might just cancel it.” It was a battle for Michael to stop fighting it, to sit still in his chair and almost relax into the pain.  He didn’t like it.  He also didn’t like the way Tor watched him the entire time, his blue eyes bright with interest.  It made Michael’s skin crawl.  Who, besides a demon, would be so fascinated by causing pain?  Tor sighed.  “Release, three, two, one.” The pain stopped.  Tor caught and held his gaze for a moment.  “Fidget again and I’ll set it off until you can hold still.  You have time to fidget, you have time to sharpen knives, memorize something, ask questions, or help me.  Understand?” Michael nodded numbly.  He was tired now.  “Go practice drawing your Heptagram.” Michael did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took two months of painful reminders for Michael to stop fidgeting.  By the end of those two months, Michael was starting to hate his name.  Research into demons had led to angels in what Michael was starting to think of as fate.  Demons led to Lucifer, which led to angels and archangels.  Which led him to his namesake, the vaunted Archangel Michael.  It was one thing to memorize a prayer to him, Michael reflected, but another to realize that the being might actually exist.  Michael the Protector, he had mused after a punishment one day.  He was the one to cast out Lucifer.  So where was the protector now?  Where was Michael’s protection when a demon destroyed his life, when Tor punished him for stumbling over the Vade Retro Satana, when Tor’s patience began to visibly wane around him?</p>
<p>“I don't want to be called Michael anymore,” he told Tor one day as they knelt across from each other, scrubbing at red spray paint.  Michael had gotten a chance to practice drawing the pentagram in an old farmhouse that was two steps from collapsing in on itself.  But still, Tor has insisted, they had to remove the sign that they’d been there.  Even if they were pulling up decades of mold and grime in the process, it was better to leave confusion than suspicion behind.</p>
<p>Tor squinted at him.  “Okay,” the giant said with rare patience, drawing the word out until it was at least three syllables long. </p>
<p>“I want to be Jake.  Jacob.”</p>
<p>“A trickster.  He wrestled with God and was reborn from it.” Michael stared at Tor.  “Names have power, you know.  It’s like choosing a new destiny.  Do you want to be associated with a man whose name means ‘deceiver’ and ‘follows on another’s heels?’” </p>
<p>“But he changed.  He became a protector.  He was loyal to his family.”</p>
<p>“He tricked his brother out of his firstborn rights.”</p>
<p>“His brother tried to kill him and was a murdering rapist.  Jacob was considered a righteous man.”</p>
<p>“And are you?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Are you a righteous man?”</p>
<p>“Probably not. But I’m always going to be the one that ‘follows on another’s heels,’ aren’t I?” Tor was silent for a long time after that.  Michael went back to scrubbing at the paint.  Only after they’d climbed back into his Jeep did Tor say anything about it.</p>
<p>“You gonna take a surname?” Michael hadn’t considered that.</p>
<p>“I, uh, guess not.  Not like I’m going to need one, am I?” Tor snorted.</p>
<p>“I think you’d--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em> April 27 2006 </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“--be surprised,” Sam said, looking down at his laptop.  Jacob looked up from his book, a surprise find at a local Goodwill.  They were taking a break for a few days in a small town in Montana.  Jacob had scored a nearly pristine copy of <em> The Screwtape Letters </em> at the resale store, a book both Tor and Sam had taken one look at and nearly died of laughter on seeing on two completely isolated occasions.  Dean had rolled his eyes and mumbled something about ‘book-loving weirdos,’ to which Jacob had replied without looking up, “the term you’re looking for is ‘eccentric bibliophile,’ jackass.”  John, well, John had burned his original copy.  Jacob had never been clear on the <em> why </em>, just that John had been so offended by it that he’d set it on fire in a Walmart parking lot in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and promptly driven them far away.</p>
<p>“What am I surprised by?”</p>
<p>“The fact that Dean can draw a Devil’s Trap faster than I can?” Jacob knew that hadn’t been what Sam wanted to say but he played along anyway.</p>
<p>“You guys time it or something?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Dean scoffed, slamming the front door of their motel room, a plastic bag dangling from one hand, cups of coffee in the other.  “I totally kicked Sammy’s ass.” Jacob rolled his eyes, set his book down, and plucked the offered coffee from the holder.  “You find anything good, Sasquatch?” Jacob cracked open the box Dean handed him, groaning at the scent of sugar.</p>
<p>“You actually got me chocolate chip this time.  Thank fuck.” The rolled-up silverware hit Jacob square in the face.</p>
<p>“Like you need more sugar.  You’re  like the rabbit from that battery commercial these days, can’t sit still.” Jacob took a large bite of one of the pancakes before Dean could take them away from him.  Sam snorted.</p>
<p>“Okay, so I found what I think is a coven of witches in Andover, Massachusetts.  Coven of vampires in Hotchkiss, Colorado.  Uh...mysterious killings in Red Cedar, Wisconsin.  Cattle mutilations in Wildhorse, Oregon.  Any of those, I guess?” Dean, chewing on a mouthful of bacon, shrugged.</p>
<p>“Cattle-” Jacob coughed out, “cattle mutilations are a demonic omen.” The brothers looked at each other.  “If that changes anything.”</p>
<p>“You said like, three weeks ago that people would die if we faced down a demon.” Jacob looked up and set his breakfast down.</p>
<p>“Three weeks ago neither of you knew what a Devil’s Trap <em> was </em>, let alone how to draw one.  Now, if you guys have paid attention, you know enough to get within fifty miles of confirmed omens.” Jacob shrugged, knowing full well how arrogant his words would come off.  Sure enough, both brothers bristled.</p>
<p>“That’s your professional opinion, huh?”  Jacob averted his eyes and shrugged again.</p>
<p>“Close--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em> November 28 2006 </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“--enough,” Tor grunted.  Jacob pushed himself upright and surveyed the heptagram.  Tor had made him draw it onto the floorboards of the old farmhouse.  It was almost six feet across, and it had taken Jacob hours to make it.  Now that it was done, he was starting to realize just how hungry and tired he was.  “Scrape it up.” Jacob turned an incredulous stare on his master.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>“I told you to scrape it up, not question me.  You have half an hour.  If you pass out, I’m leaving you here.” Jacob caught the stiff brush the man threw him and, with a low groan, got back onto his aching knees.  After five months of doing nothing but reading, memorizing, reciting, and drawing, Jacob was starting to really hate Tor.  He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.  He scrubbed as quickly as his body would let him, dragging himself to his feet and ignoring the black paint smearing his hands and arms.</p>
<p>Tor was waiting at the Jeep, leaning on the hood with his arms crossed over his chest.  “Can we do something besides read, sir?” Tor stared at him for a long time.</p>
<p>“What did you have in mind?”</p>
<p>“I want to learn about other beings.  Besides demons.” Jacob kicked at a patch of grass, avoiding Tor’s eyes as he said this.  He shouldn’t have said anything.  But he was tired of demons.  Tired of chanting Latin over and over until he woke, the Prayer to Michael on his lips.  Tired of sketching Devil’s Traps over and over, then measuring angles and lines with protractors and rulers so he could make them even more perfect.  Tor grunted, straightening.</p>
<p>“It’s your lucky day, kid.  Just got a call from a hunter, only a few hours from here.  He usually calls to ask me about demons.  He mentioned working a case about a ghost this time, not too far from here.  That different enough for you?” Excitement flooded Jacob.  He grinned, nodding.  Tor grunted again, a smirk twisting the edges of his lips.  “Good.  Get in.” Maybe Tor was getting restless, too?  Jacob didn’t waste his chance, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the Jeep as he swung into the passenger seat.  And then they were off, tearing away from the farmhouse and onto the rough gravel road.  Tor tugged his cell phone from his pocket, a blocky thing that looked more like a rock than a phone with the amount of scratches on it.</p>
<p>“Winchester, it’s Wood.  Yeah, the demon one, what other Wood do you know?  Kid wants to know if he can learn about ghosts.” Tor glanced at Jacob and he tried to look both eager but not over-eager.  Tor snorted into the phone and Jacob knew he couldn’t hide his excitement.  “Kid’s dying to do something but memorize Latin.  You know how they are.” There was a moment of silence.  “I’ll tell him, yeah.  Yeah.  We’ll be there in three hours.  Won’t even be dark by then.” He ended the call, then looked at Jacob.  “Winchester wants me to tell you that you’re coming purely for educational purposes.  You might get to set fire to the bones if you obey him.  You got that?” Jacob nodded.  “Good.  Now.  Humor me.” His tone was surprisingly light.  “Tell me--”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em> April 28 2006 </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“--what you were thinking?” Jacob slammed the door to the motel room, locking it with brusque movements before whirling back onto the brothers.  They stared at him, wide-eyed.  “Or were you even thinking?  Between the two of you, is there a single functioning brain cell rattling around in those empty skulls?” Jacob’s pendant warmed.  He ignored it.  “Of course not.  Because if there was, you would have double checked that you’d finished a goddamn Devil’s Trap before you <em> lured a demon into it!” </em>Sam winced.  Dean gulped.  Jacob wanted to hit them.</p>
<p>“Look,” Sam tried.  Jacob turned to him.</p>
<p>“Shut up.” The taller hunter did.  “You fucked up.  You’re fucking lucky I was there, otherwise you would have died.  You didn’t stop any of her power.  None of it.  You saw that.” Dean had an eye already starting to bruise.  Sam had blood under his nose.  Jacob himself was moving stiffly and he knew his lip was bloody.  “You’re fucking lucky.” Dean took a step forward.  Jacob braced himself.</p>
<p>“Yeah.  We were.  We fucked up.  But you fixed it.  What’s the big deal?” Jacob took a deep breath, exhaled, tried to calm himself.</p>
<p>“What was your plan if I hadn’t been there and your Trap failed?” The two brothers exchanged glances and shrugged.  “Exactly.  You didn’t have one.” He snorted.  “Think on that.  Think about how your dead-weight suitcase of a tagalong had to save you.  I’m gonna go take a nap.” Dean made an incredulous noise as Jacob started for the couch.</p>
<p>“Dude, it’s four in the afternoon.” Jacob turned to him.</p>
<p>“You think my cursed collar runs off sunshine?” That made Sam perk up.</p>
<p>“Wait, it runs on your energy?”</p>
<p>“Hence why I’m always sleeping in the car and eating sugar.  I can run fine without sleep for a day or two, but after 48 hours, I’m drained.  Gotta recharge its batteries sometime.  Can’t let it run out of punishment juice, now can we?” The brothers were silent after that.</p>
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